


In the Shadow of Your Heart

by lq_traintracks (lumosed_quill)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Auror Training, Blow Jobs, Clubbing, Duelling, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Friends With Benefits, Frottage, Fuckbuddies, M/M, POV Draco Malfoy, Pining, Rimming, Switching, Unresolved Emotional Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-06
Updated: 2017-10-06
Packaged: 2019-01-09 18:38:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 51,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12282198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lumosed_quill/pseuds/lq_traintracks
Summary: And thus began the very strange circumstance of their fake dating in public and real fucking in absolute secret. It was, with no comparison, the weirdest relationship Draco had ever been in – which was to say, it wasn't one.





	1. A falling star fell from your heart and landed in my eyes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sdk](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sdk/gifts).



> This began as a birthday present for my amazing girlfriend, sdk… for January, 2016. It became apparent it was going to go longer than expected, so I abandoned it for a shorter piece that year. I tried again the next. And the same damn thing happened. So I decided that even though I wasn't going to make it by January, 2017 either, I'd just keep writing on it until it was done and then find a good time to post. As of this week, Shelly and I have been together for two and a half years. This week also marks the two-year anniversary of when we first met in person. Shelly, you've changed my life for the better in ways I can't calculate or even express, but I know you know. I'll let the boys here do the talking. Or not. They really actually suck at that. I love you so much. Thank you for being the love of my life. ♥
> 
> Major beta thanks goes to capitu and firethesound who were both just so awesome! I appreciate you so much, ladies! 
> 
> Title (and chapter titles) from Florence + The Machine's "Cosmic Love".

Pansy set her tray down on the cafeteria table with a clatter, and Draco hastily attempted to stuff the parchment at which he'd been scowling into the pocket of his trainee tunic.

"Is that it?"

"Is what what?"

Pansy rolled her eyes at him. "Draco, you can hide nothing from me, when will you learn this?" She sipped her pumpkin juice and began unwrapping a revolting sandwich-shaped thing that smelled like the men's locker room after a three hour-long training exercise. Salazar, they'd been trainees for over two years now; you'd think he'd have got used to the food.

"What the bloody hell is that?" Draco wrinkled his nose.

Pansy shrugged. "The Tuesday Sick-Up Special. What's _that_ that you were trying so desperately to conceal in your pocket? It's still sticking out, you know. Some Auror you'll make."

"It's none of your business." Draco toyed with what he suspected might be chicken salad on his plate, poking at it with one tine of his fork.

It was with lightning speed then that Pansy's hand darted out, and she ripped the parchment from his pocket.

"Wanker!"

"You're only now realising?" Pansy snatched the paper away from his grabbing at it and opened it. "Well, well, Draco. Those pesky parents of yours have finally found you a mate, have they? At your ripe old age of twenty-one." She shook her head and her bobbed hair bounced around her face. "Astoria Greengrass. Merlin, are they serious?"

"It's not _that_ bad." Draco set his fork down, surrendering to the roiling of his stomach.

"'Not that bad.'" Pansy looked at him squarely. "Draco, even if you _were_ into women, Astoria Greengrass would be precisely the last—"

"Keep your voice down," Draco hissed.

"Oh, Draco darling. Everybody _knows_." She laid her hand over his, and he pulled it away.

"Not that. _This._ " He swiped the parchment from her hands and once more stuffed it into his pocket. "A date with her would be one thing. A Coming Out Ball is entirely another."

"Well, you can't hide it forever. Eventually you'll have to attend the thing."

"Not if I expire from revulsion first." Speaking of, Draco picked up his fork again and took a tentative bite of his lunch, grimacing his way to swallowing it. Thankfully, it didn't taste as bad as it looked. Perhaps if he just ate with his eyes closed…

"Don't be so dramatic. Perhaps we can figure you a way out of it."

Draco coughed, fighting off the sensation that he might choke. " _We?_ "

"Well, who else is going to help de-cock up your life for you?"

"I don't need your help. Insufferable harpie."

"Fine," Pansy said. "How do you intend to get out of it then?"

"I'll…" Draco stared across the room, not-quite-watching the Auror trainees and other junior Ministry officials like Pansy come and go from lunch. Someone's tray crashed to the ground resulting in derisive applause. "I'll, er…"

Pansy grabbed his hand again then. Hard. "You'll show up with a man."

"What? You're mad."

"The word you're looking for is brilliant."

Draco scoffed. "Merlin, sod off, will you? You're going to make me late for Detection and Disillusionment."

She waved a hand. "Reynolds always starts that class late anyway."

"How would you know? You're all the way in Creatures."

"I know things," she asserted. "Listen, Draco, I'm serious."

"'Take a man'… My parents would kill me!"

"Disinherit maybe, not kill. Okay, how about this." Pansy was really warming to her subject.

Draco pushed his plate away again, giving up for good.

"You don't show up with someone, but you Owl them about him. They'll call off the ball, and you never have to do a thing."

Draco grunted.

"What's that mean?"

"It means I'm not exactly fond of the idea I'll be disinherited, Pans."

"Oh, they wouldn't _actually_. They'd get over it."

"They're purebloods. They won't just 'get over' having a queer son. I mean, that would have to be one ridiculously rich and powerful man for them to be even slightly okay with—"

"Rich and powerful?"

"Let's not forget influential, connected, politically beneficial, charming, and in other words, perfect. He doesn't exist."

"Perfect, you say."

Draco snorted. "Oh and you have just the man for me, do you? I swear, if you try to set me up with Nott's brother again, I'll turn your tits blue. He's got that…" Draco gestured to his throat. "…that wheezy thing when he—"

"Harry Potter."

"Where?"

Pansy slapped him in the arm, and Draco quit looking for the stupid git. Her smile was slow and more than a little evil. "Harry bloody Potter."

Draco stared at her, heat rising up the back of his neck. "You must be joking."

"I'm not."

He rolled his eyes. "You should be."

"No, listen, it's perfect!"

Draco snorted. "What potions are you on? I mean, don't get me wrong, they sound really good. Maybe I'll try some later when—"

"Oh shut it, it's a great idea, and you know it!"

Draco felt an absurd laugh rise in him. "You're _not_ joking."

"Tell me why it's a bad idea."

The laugh erupted out of him, and Draco ran a trembling hand through his hair, undoubtedly mussing it. "Oh, I don't know, I hate him?"

She waved her hand again. "You do not. You've been all but cordial for months now."

"Well, I don't _like_ him!"

"Who said you have to?"

"Well, this little plan might work a lot better if he liked _me_ at least!"

She shrugged. "Who says he doesn't?"

He snorted. Loudly. "What the bloody hell are you on about?" His pulse was too fast. He'd probably got food poisoning from just one bite of possibly-chicken salad.

"Okay, hear me out. Potter's rich. He's powerful. Fuck, he'll probably be Minister someday!"

"But I—"

"Shut it. He's influential. Just look at how your classes are all geared to his strengths. Blaise says he thinks Head Auror Robards would personally suck Potter's cock _in_ class if he could get away with calling it a lesson."

"Pansy—!"

"He's the Boy Who Lived, the bloody Chosen One. Who's more connected than that? Who's more 'politically beneficial'? I mean, your parents may not relish you being gay, but not even they could dispute the absolute prize your dating Potter would be."

Draco gulped.

"He's charming. Bloody hell, he's got everyone here wrapped around his finger and he hardly seems to care. He certainly doesn't take advantage of that fact."

"Which my parents will see as a weakness." God, he was actually participating in this mad discussion of hers.

"Whether or not he uses his significant pull to his advantage, Draco, your parents could use it to theirs. And let's face it. They sort of need it now, don't they?"

The heat built and rushed into Draco's cheeks. He gritted his teeth. "How dare you disparage—?"

"That's why they're rushing the Ball to announce your relationship with Astoria, isn't it?"

Draco swallowed and stared at the table. He forced a quick nod.

"Very well. So we give them someone better."

"He's a man. He's not better."

"Well, that's neither here nor there since you're not actually going to date him anyway. He'll get them off your back. In fact, I dare say Harry Potter may be the best man for the job."

"I may be the best man for what job?"

Draco's eyes went wide, and he proceeded to choke on his own spit.

"Potter!" Pansy declared joyfully. "Speak of the devil!"

"Parkinson. Malfoy."

Draco peered up through tear-spiked lashes to see Potter frowning at him.

"Chicken salad? I choked on mine too. I think it's made with slugs." Then his gaze was back on Pansy, and Draco took a long, shaky breath. "So, what job?"

"Nothing!" Draco all but shouted and then choked some more.

"Actually, it's a hoot, Potter," Pansy said, taking advantage of Draco's renewed pulmonary distress. "We were just talking about how you could—"

Draco did the only thing he could: He clamped his hand over Pansy's big mouth. "It's NOTHING."

"Mmmphhhnnn!"

"Nothing! Really, Potter. She's drunk. Totally gone. I need to get her to the infirmary actually. Third time this month." Draco grabbed Pansy's arm and jerked her out of the chair while Potter – stunned, parted lips speechless and eyebrows up – just stood there and watched him drag her away.

"It's nothing," Draco insisted one last time, and then, hauling his friend through the cafeteria, Draco fled, coughing all the way.

~~~

Draco panted, his hands on his knees, recovering from his opponent's Wheezing Charm. At least Draco had got in five good hits before Terry Boot had even struck him once.

"That's enough for today," called Robards. "Next time anti-jinxes, so study up! Somebody take that Babbling Hex off Weasley."

Draco rose, holstering his wand and wiping his forehead with his sleeve, and made his way to the showers.

As he stepped under the spray, he couldn't suppress a groan. It had been a long day – four classes and two of them combat training. His muscles were on fire, and he thought he might have pulled a hamstring too, as his right was stiffening up quickly. Cranking the heat up, he turned and let the water hit his back, dipping his chin to his chest and closing his eyes.

He remembered he had two feet of parchment due tomorrow for his Creature Attack class – he'd only written the introductory paragraph – and he groaned again for completely different reasons.

He was dressing to go home when a voice behind him made his chest feel tight all over.

"Hey, Malfoy."

Draco had the brief and absurd instinct to go for his wand. Old habits and all. He stopped himself and instead zipped his trousers, turning and offering a guarded look. "Potter."

"That was a good Knee-Reversal today."

Draco just blinked at him for a moment. "You saw that?"

Potter shrugged. "I was waiting for Ron to get out of the _Incarcerous_."

Draco began buttoning his shirt. "So you're the one that put the Babbling Hex on him?"

Potter smiled and looked only very slightly guilty. "Yeah."

"Then I suppose I should say nice work to you too. If bloody annoying." And of course the Boy Who Lived had to trounce his opponent so thoroughly that he'd had time to glance around the room and see how everyone else was faring. Of course he had. The plonker.

_And he chose to watch you._

Draco shook his head to dislodge the voice inside it. "So, er, what can I do for you?"

"Actually, I've spoken with Pansy, and I think it's what I can do for you."

If Draco had thought the Wheezing Charm was something, he was dead wrong. With no wand in hand, Potter had just completely stolen his breath. "Wh-what?"

"She said you needed to Owl your parents that you were dating someone else so that they didn't marry you off to Astoria Greengrass. Is that not right?"

Draco blinked at him. Potter's hair was still damp and dripping down his neck. Draco blinked again. "She said that?"

"Yeah, between CB and Duelling."

When Draco just blinked some more, Potter apparently felt the need to elaborate.

"You know… Curse-Breaking? Duelling?" He mimed swishing a wand for Draco's stupefied benefit.

"I know what classes we took today, Potter."

"All right then. You just looked a little…"

"I'm fine. I took a Confundus in class."

"Right. So… do you still need someone?"

"Someone?"

Potter shifted his weight from one hip to the other and stuffed his hands into his jeans pockets. "Well, me. Obviously. You know, to Owl your parents about?"

Draco felt his eyes go wide. "You're… offering?"

"Well, yeah. I mean, it's no big deal. We're both at least partially bent, so… It's not completely inconceivable, right?"

The insane laugh bubbled out of Draco's mouth before he could choke it down. "I guess not completely." Belatedly, he started buttoning his shirt again, if only for something to do. But his hands were shaking, so he stopped once more.

Potter's gaze dipped for just a moment to his chest then rose again. "So, does that mean you want to, well… use me?"

The coughing fit that overtook Draco then at least saved him from finding a proper answer for a few awkward seconds.

"Are you okay?"

Not able to find his voice just yet, eyes watering so that Potter blurred into three of himself, Draco just nodded furiously.

Potter stood there, dripping, and waited it out.

"Wh-why would you want to do that for me?" Draco finally asked once he had his breath back.

Potter then looked around the locker room for a moment and then confided, voice low, "It could actually maybe help me a bit too. If I could tell Mrs Weasley?"

He said this like it should make some sense to Draco.

When Draco simply stood there staring at him though, Potter cleared his throat and went on. "She's been setting me up." Potter gulped. "A lot. I, er, it just might give me a bit of a break, that's all."

"Why haven't you just told her you're seeing someone else already?" Draco really could just kick his own teeth in sometimes.

"Oh, I have. Doesn't work."

"But you think this would?" He considered _Silencioing_ himself.

"Maybe. I don't know. Does that really matter to you, Malfoy? I mean, if it gets you what you need?"

Draco made to say something but then shut his mouth. He shrugged. "I guess not."

"So, we have a deal?"

A fat drop of water slowly made its way down the tendon in Potter's neck and then slithered beneath his t-shirt.

"Yyyes…"

"Great," Potter said, and Draco quickly raised his gaze to his face once more. He hadn't really meant to speak aloud or to agree so readily. He still thought Pansy was a bit mad to have come up with this idea, to be honest. But perhaps if Potter was agreeing to do it, that lent her madness some baffling degree of credibility. So maybe it was okay that he'd unintentionally said yes. Potter reached out and struck him soundly on the shoulder twice. "Just send me a copy of the Owl, would you? See you tomorrow, Malfoy."

And with that, he was gone, his trainers squeaking on the locker room tile.

Fingers still trembling slightly, Draco went back to buttoning up his shirt.

~~~

Against his better judgement, Draco recruited Pansy to help him craft the Owl. It took three days for them to get it to the point where Draco wasn't either worried they'd know he was lying or mortified by the level of detail about his budding and beautiful relationship with one Harry Potter. (Pansy erred to the ridiculous and, frankly, risqué.)

But in the end, they'd settled somewhere in between – somewhere both definitive and demure – and they'd sent it to Potter for his agreement. Draco waited for his return Owl that Sunday in a near-constant state of embarrassment, sure that Potter would laugh his arse off over it and decide he'd been mental to agree in the first place.

Draco was feeling rather mental himself. Date Potter? Potter was exactly the last person he'd want to spend time with. It wasn't as though, just because they'd buried the wand lately, they could suddenly become friends, much less anything else. Merlin, his parents would see right through the ruse, wouldn't they? How many letters had he sent home from Hogwarts riddled with hateful words about Potter? How many Christmas dinners had Draco ruined by bringing Potter up and recounting all Potter's loathsome efforts to make all the other students fancy him?

Draco couldn't think of a worse match, honestly. And probably neither could Potter. As Draco paced, he grew convinced he was going to receive a rejection Owl any moment, and he'd be right back to being that schoolboy on the Hogwarts Express, holding out a hand that would remain forever unshaken.

But, thankfully, Draco didn't have to contemplate his own utter ruin and humiliation for long, as he received Potter's approval Owl only an hour later with a perfunctory and socially inept, "Looks good to me," attached to the original.

Still, Draco let out a relieved breath and went to send a crisp and clean copy to his parents.

He stood at the windowsill for a long time with it in his hands. He stood there so long that Joan pecked him impatiently on the shoulder.

"Oh, fine," Draco grumbled. And before he could stop himself, he attached it to her leg and opened the pane. She was off before he could snatch her back again. And that's when Draco started to feel truly ill.

Possibly-chicken-salad-possibly-slugs ill.

He stayed in that state for three more days as morning after morning no post came from his parents.

This could only mean one thing: They were furious. So furious they were speechless. So furious they'd begun disownment parchmentwork before even telling Draco how very furious they were.

On the third day, Draco was sitting in the Ministry cafeteria once again, this time moping over his French onion soup and dreading his Stealth and Tracking exam, when the memo flew straight into the side of his head.

"Bloody hell," he grumbled. And when he bent to pick it up off the floor, three more memos soared quickly over his head.

"Ow!"

"Son of a—"

"Oi, watch it!"

It seemed everyone in the cafeteria was getting bludgeoned by memos. Draco briefly wondered if that meant some crucial new trainee classes being added to the roster for this term, or if maybe something so dire was happening out there in the world that they were going to be calling on the trainees to aid the Aurors.

But when Draco finished rubbing his head long enough to pick the memo up off the floor – still with choruses of "Blimey!" and "Merlin, that hurt!" coming from around the room – Draco realised it wasn't the typical Ministry parchment. Draco picked up the heavy, cream-coloured envelope, the sheer size and weight of it explaining the painfulness of its delivery.

He frowned and turned the envelope over in his hands.

A rich, gold-filamented script shone on the front providing Draco's full name and the address of the Ministry, down to his seat at "Second Table to the Back on the East Side of the Room". Draco raised a quizzical eyebrow at that, while at the same time a squeal of delight (or humour) went up across the room. Draco spared it only a moment's notice before a loud set of gasps and then a bellowing laugh followed it.

He slid his thumb under the seal of the envelope, looking up to see that many in the room had already opened identical envelopes, and, bizarrely, many eyes in the room had turned toward him. Draco frowned, seeing Susan Bones whisper behind her envelope to some other Hufflepuff friend of hers, her eyes blinking merrily at Draco over the broken seal.

Blaise was also staring at him and elbowing Nott in the ribs.

And there were Weasley, Longbottom, and Thomas too, all looking thunderstruck, but especially Weasley.

_What. The. Fuck._

Sweating now, Draco ripped into his envelope and fumbled the thick, expensive parchment from within. He unfolded it, finding on top a small slip of paper with his mother's writing on it:

_Draco dear,_

_I thought it only fitting to send you one of the formal invitations, even though you're the guest of honour. We trust you'll clear your calendar to attend._

_We couldn't be more pleased, darling! Well, I couldn't. Your father is fine._

Draco gulped. "Oh my God."

A peel of laughter went up across the room that just barely rose above the cacophony of murmurs that now filled the air.

Draco tore the parchment open and read voraciously, his heart in his throat:

_You are cordially invited to a Ball in honour of the imminent union of our son, Draco Abraxas Malfoy, with Harry James Potter, next Saturday night, 6th September at Malfoy Manor, 9 o'clock in the evening. Full wizarding dress robes required. Please RSVP with your Owl no later than Thursday._

_We look forward to you joining us for this momentous and joyful occasion!_

_Hors d'oeuvres served all evening! Dancing! Open bar!_

For a moment Draco could only stare at it slack-jawed. He wasn't sure which words were more a shock to his eyes: union, joyful, or open bar.

He didn't get the chance to decide as just then a throat cleared behind him.

Draco turned in his seat to see the very momentous Harry James Potter standing there, his own invitation dangling from his fingers.

"H-hi," Draco managed in a small voice.

Potter gave him a bemused smile, sighed, and said, "Maybe we should talk."

~~~

Talking didn't turn into the enormous row Draco had expected, though. It was all quite reasonable really. Neither of them was pleased about it, by any means, but it was Potter who pointed out the logistic necessity of this briefly nauseating venture.

"You're… all right with attending?"

"'All right' may be too strong a phrase, Malfoy, but what choice do we have?" Potter ran a hand through his hair and sighed while Draco didn't dare to breathe at all. "We've already suffered the worst of it, anyway, right? I mean, everybody's already got their invites, haven't they?"

Draco looked around the dark, empty classroom even though they were alone. Someone walked by the closed door laughing, and Draco winced. "Right."

"How long do you think it will take? Two hours?" Potter shifted his weight from one foot to the other, his thumbs sunk into the back pockets of his jeans as he'd not yet changed for training.

"Possibly three."

Potter exhaled. "Well, in the grand scheme of things, it's not that long."

Draco blinked. Was he really hearing this? Was Potter really going to do it? Draco tried to picture it and came up with a large blank spot in his mind. It was, maybe literally, unthinkable.

But then one corner of Potter's lips quirked up. "And hey. Open bar."

Draco huffed a surprised laugh. "Yes, there is that."

"If we get pissed enough, we can survive, right?"

"That's remarkably optimistic."

"Well, we can always Obliviate one another when it's over," Potter offered.

Draco really looked at him then. He'd been avoiding eye contact up to this point as though Potter were the glaring sun. Potter was clean-shaven, but Draco's gaze found a nick on the side of his neck which made him wonder if Potter had forsaken charm-work for an actual blade. Salazar, what a Muggle.

Draco swallowed, his eyes travelling back up to Potter's face, the reflection of dim light in his glasses not enough to obscure his eyes. Potter licked his lips and then appeared to bite the bottom one from the inside.

Draco cleared his throat. "Mother Weasley must have really terrible taste for you to be willing to go through with this."

Potter's lips broke into a smile, and he laughed. "You have no idea." He slapped Draco on the shoulder again on his way out the door, and Draco had to brace in order not to stumble. He set his jaw.

"Merlin, I'm going to need new dress robes," said Potter in parting.

The door opened and closed, and then Draco was alone again.

~~~

It had all seemed surreal. Every time Draco thought of it leading up to the actual evening of the Ball, it had struck him as so delusional that he couldn't possibly take it seriously. Something would happen in the meantime, he felt, to call it off. His parents would come to their senses, or Potter would Owl him, suddenly furious that he'd been dragged into this. Something.

But then there Draco was, standing out in front of his house in his best dress robes, feeling itchy, and he knew in one Apparition he'd be there, standing on the Manor grounds where he and Potter planned to meet up on the way in, and it would all be happening.

What if Potter didn't show? What if Draco Apparated and stood there in his finest robes, and Potter just never showed up? Would that be better or worse? Draco truly didn't know.

All he knew was that it was fifteen past nine in the evening, and it was time to go.

He gulped, tugged on his cufflinks compulsively, closed his eyes, and Apparated.

~

The breeze was unseasonably cool, and Draco bounced on the balls of his feet, his hands shoved into his pockets while he looked around himself. He could hear the music playing from inside the well-lit ballroom, its golden light streaming out onto the gardens where Draco hid in the shadows, waiting for Potter. Peels of happy laughter went up from the guests still entering, long jewel-toned robes sweeping the flagstones that led to the entry stairs.

Draco breathed out hard. "Merlin, what the bloody fuck—"

"—are we doing here?" Potter finished for him, coming up from behind.

Draco jumped. "Shit, Potter!" His heart thundered. And in the next moment, Draco realised… "You're here."

"You expected me to stand you up?"

"Maybe." Draco shrugged as Potter came to stand by his side in the dark. "Wouldn't have blamed you."

"Oh but wouldn't you have?" Potter smirked at him, and Draco couldn't help his gaze sweeping down Potter's body, taking in his attire. The fitted robes draped him flawlessly. He'd clearly had them professionally tailored.

"Too much?" Potter asked. He brushed nonexistent lint from his sleeve.

"No," Draco nearly croaked and then cleared his throat, turning his eyes back to the glittering windows and the swirling guests beyond. "No, it's… passable."

"You look—" Potter began, and Draco held his breath for the response. Merlin knows why. "Malfoyan," Potter finished, and Draco scoffed.

"Yes, well, that's not particularly difficult for me."

Potter spared him another lazy smile. Then suddenly, there was his arm. "Shall we?" When Draco hesitated, he continued. "I mean, we could stay out here all night, but people might suspect."

"Suspect what?"

Potter shrugged. "That we're absent because we're lying. Or late because we're shagging, I suppose."

Despite the chill to the evening air, Draco felt his cheeks heat. He sighed. "Well, we can't have that," he said and looped his arm through Potter's. It was warm and strong and stable, and it made Draco feel like he might not just fall through the ground at any moment. This was Harry Potter, nemesis extraordinaire. And yet, Merlin, he had a bloody nice arm. Draco sort of hated that this was how Potter's arm felt. He caught himself sneering into the dark and forced a more pleasant, I'm-here-willingly look onto his face.

They took a few steps, getting closer and closer to being bathed in magical lamplight. With every moment, Draco half-wanted to simply turn around and run away. Maybe Potter felt it, because his arm subtly tightened.

He leaned in and whispered, "Open bar, Malfoy."

Draco sputtered into a nervous laugh, but oddly enough, after that, he really did seem to feel better. He sighed, cleared his throat, and in the next moment, they stepped into what felt like a spotlight.

 

~  
They'd waded through the press' flashing bulbs, the crowds near the entry, and into the ballroom. They'd made it past multiple accosting well-wishers. And all the while, Potter kept Draco's arm wrapped tight in his own. It helped him put one foot in front of the other, and it rather seemed like they were teammates in some sort of sport where their best defence was to link arms and combine their strengths for the charge.

Draco made it all the way through the room that way, giving pat responses and nodding along to Potter's. Until they made it to his parents.

"Draco," his mother enthused, leaning in to give him a warm, dry kiss on his cheek. "Mr Potter, how good of you to come on such short notice. Surely your schedule is tight." She leaned in and kissed the air two inches from Potter's face, her hand lighting on his elbow briefly, as was her custom.

"My schedule is remarkably similar to your son's. It was no imposition, being able to be here." Potter smiled, and for all intents and purposes it seemed nothing but genuine.

Merlin, even when Draco's father went to shake his hand, Potter didn't hesitate. They shared a brief, strong shake, and then his father, a man of fewer words since the war, barked out, "Drinks?" and before anyone could answer, he turned in a swirl of robes and stalked off.

"You look lovely, Mrs Malfoy," Potter said just as Draco was opening his mouth to say the same. Draco shot him an incredulous look, but Potter just stood there smiling serenely.

"Why thank you, Mr Potter. You both look so dashing." Her eyes twinkled. They _twinkled_. As though she'd all but forgotten Astoria Greengrass ever existed! Like Harry Potter was magic itself standing there.

It _was_ a nicely pressed set of robes, but Merlin!

His father reappeared with a round of Champagne, but the double Scotch hovering just behind didn't escape Draco's notice. He just rather wished it was meant for _him_. Pity.

When they each had a glass in hand (his father, two), his mother cleared her throat. "Lucius?"

"Yes, right." He lifted the hand holding the Champagne, his pasted on smile looking an awful lot more like a frown. "To new circumstances."

Draco wanted to laugh at his wording, though he supposed it was more apt than even he knew. This was, after all, just a circumstance he and Potter found themselves in for the time being. Draco sipped long and deep, draining half his glass.

"So," his mother began. "Just exactly how new is this?"

And with that, Draco's heart stopped. They hadn't talked about this. Not once. Salazar's shorts, they'd walked in here completely unprepared and now Mother was going to skewer—

"A month. Just under," Potter said.

Draco turned wide eyes on him, but Potter stood there looking completely composed. Not a hair out of place. Well, all of them were out of place, but they were no more so than usual.

"And what prompted this budding romance?" Mother went on to Draco's dismay.

But Potter's arm went a little tighter on his own, and then he spoke again. "It was just a regular day at the Ministry cafeteria," Potter said. He looked at Draco then, all fondness and nostalgia. Draco felt an odd and alarming expression take up on his own face but couldn't seem to stop it and hoped Potter appeared normal enough for the both of them.

"I dunno. Just one day, he was sitting there, eating his chicken salad, complaining about it as he does, you know."

"Well, it tastes like—"

"Slugs, yes. And then the next moment… Well, here we are, Mrs Malfoy."

"Splendid," she enthused. "That's just… we couldn't be more pleased, could we, dear?"

"Mm," Father grunted. Then, "More, I think," having finished off both Champagne and Scotch in a matter of moments.

Draco hastily downed his own glass. "For me, too, please," he called.

"Don't mind him," Mother said to Potter once Draco's father had stalked off again. "Our wand stock just took a beating today and he's cross."

"And he bloody hates you," Draco blurted before he could stop himself.

"Draco," his mother admonished harshly. Then she turned to Potter in apology. "He doesn't. Truly. In fact…" She placed her hand on Potter's elbow again, and all politeness went out of her face, replaced by something raw and beseeching which Draco had sometimes glimpsed in her from the time of the war to now, though less frequently of late. "We're both quite beholden to you still, Mr Potter. Quite beholden indeed."

To Draco's shock, Potter let go of him completely for the first time since they arrived and gently laid his hand over hers on his arm. "You needn't be," he said. And something strangely real and secret seemed to pass between them, such that Draco felt a bit like he might be going barmy.

His mother smiled. She nodded a little, and then slipped her hand free once more.

"Why don't you two enjoy a dance while I find and help your father, Draco. He's probably been cornered by that awful Edith Brackshoot again wanting to know where we summer. Go on," she shooed. "Off with you. You'll make a striking couple on the ballroom floor, I dare imagine." And with that, she gave Potter a little wink, took his glass from him, and then swirled away toward the bar.

Draco turned to Potter. "A little under a month? Where did that come from?"

"My arse?" Potter gave him a look that said he might have been a little surprised at himself even. "Come on." He took Draco's elbow and started leading him onto the—

"Wait a minute, I never agreed—"

"Didn't you?" Potter shot back to him, his hand slipping down to Draco's belatedly as though he realised hauling him out by the elbow wasn't exactly romantic behaviour. "When we decided to do this, did you not think about the dancing?" He shook his head. "Merlin, I did. I've been dreading it."

A weird stone sank into Draco's stomach at his words. Not that he should have been shocked that Potter didn't want to dance with him; that would be a given, but…

Potter turned then though, and pulled Draco into his arms, one wrapping low around Draco's back, his other hand making a warm cradle in which Draco's hand was to rest. "I'm shit at it, remember? Or were you not paying attention to the staggering number of times I tread on Parvati Patil's feet at the Yule Ball?"

Draco schooled his features into an expression of bored disdain and stepped into Potter's waiting embrace. "Well, just because you were a troll on skates when you were fourteen doesn't necessarily mean… " Potter's hand pressed firm at his lower back, their bodies moving close to one another, so that as they joined in, swaying and stepping back and forth to the music, they brushed against one another here and there. "I mean, you seem…" Draco met Potter's very green eyes. "Fine at it."

Potter smirked. "Well, maybe it was Parvati's problem all along then."

Potter's shoulder was muscular and sturdy beneath Draco's palm. The hand holding his, warm and gentle.

A flashbulb went off, and Draco flinched. Potter, unfazed, just turned them slightly and went on talking. "Sorry I ad libbed, but I figured it was better than saying nothing."

"Well, you could have consulted me first."

"What, you wanted me to make your mother stand there while we went into a huddle and got our stories straight?"

"I meant before all this."

"And that was my responsibility how?"

Draco's jaw stiffened. Not that he had any reason to be arsed with Potter. That just made him more arsed, though. "It's not, all right?" he gritted out.

"So you're angry with yourself then?"

"I'm not angry."

"You've gone all… pinched."

"I haven't."

"I'm looking right at you."

Another flashbulb.

"Look, I'm not pinched. I just need more alcohol. This is mad. We're _dancing_ , Potter. Or hadn't you noticed."

A strange look came over Potter's eyes momentarily. "I'd noticed." Draco couldn't be certain, but it felt like his hand moved, wrapping an inch further around Draco's body.

"Well," Draco said, more softly than he'd intended. "Don't you find it odd?"

He made the mistake then of meeting Potter's gaze, which was suddenly softly amused. Or something else that defied definition. Something that made Draco flush as Potter said, "Exceedingly, Malfoy."

Before Draco knew what he was about, his hand slipped up Potter's shoulder, nearly to his neck. Another flashbulb went off, making Draco blink. Potter's gaze dropped to the vicinity of his lips.

The song ended, and the band struck up a quicker tune. Draco cleared his throat and stepped back slightly. "I think we ought to stop while you're ahead, troll skates. Don't you think?"

Potter smirked. "Yeah, I need more alcohol for this kind of tempo."

"How can you smile at at time like this? You're not having fun are you?"

Potter snorted a short laugh and took Draco's arm again, escorting him back to the edge of the dancefloor. "Get that band to play some Weird Sisters, and ask me after four more drinks."

"I'd rather not be here that long," Draco said, but in his mind, he was already imagining what Potter having actual fun might look like. He mentally shook himself. "Okay, so let's drink and try to keep the talk about the training program. If it veers off somewhere unpleasant, I'll pull you out to dance again. Agreed?"

"Sounds good."

"If we must, we can always leave a little earlier than expected," Draco said, more to soothe himself than convince Potter.

"They'll just think we can't wait to get each other's clothes off, right?"

Draco cleared his throat. "Merlin forbid, but yes, probably."

"Yeah," Potter agreed. "Merlin forbid." Then he tugged a little on Draco's arm. "Look sharp. Here comes your mum."

Draco pasted on what he hoped was a relaxed-looking smile, though in actuality it was a relief to see her Leviosaing a fresh round of drinks ahead of her.

~

All in all, the evening went rather quickly. Potter had disappeared for the loo at one point, leaving Draco with the safe harbour of Pansy (who didn't miss her chance for a good ribbing, of course), and when Draco saw Potter again, it was from across the room where he'd taken up with a group of his own friends who'd shown up, including Longbottom, Lovegood, and a sprinkling of others Draco recognised as distinctly Gryffindor, even though he couldn't place them by name. He found himself wondering what on earth Potter had told them about Draco and decided that they'd gone about this all wrong in not consulting one another ahead of time. In fact, it was like an itch Draco couldn't scratch, to be standing there watching Potter talk and laugh with them, his lips moving and smiling in a way that had Draco wishing for a pair of Extendable Ears.

As Draco stood there, trying in vain to read Potter's lips from afar, Potter lifted his gaze, found Draco staring at him, and, mid-sentence it seemed, gave a little smirk, before he went on talking with Longbottom, gesturing with a glass of Firewhisky that he'd managed to pick up at some point.

Draco had been dragged away moments later to speak with friends of his parents. He'd subtly charmed his glass to refill once he determined the story of someone's great grandchild adopting a stray Kneazle was going to go on until the end of time.

When they finally set him free, Draco sighed, his eyes tracking around the room for Potter once more. Draco found him speaking to his mother, their heads close, and for a moment it caught his breath – that Potter and his mother were speaking so intimately. His skin flushed with quick anger at the sight, and Draco worked his way over, dodging new conversations as politely as he could manage. But by the time he arrived, his mother had stepped back.

"Well, if you change your mind," she was saying, "you're always welcome to use our Floo. It's getting so chilly out now."

"Thank you, Mrs Malfoy."

"I'll give Lucius your regards. I'm not sure where he got off to."

"That would be fine, thanks," Potter said with a smile. Then, "Are you ready, Draco?"

_Draco._

"Uhh… yes. Yes," Draco managed more decisively. He wasn't sure how Potter had managed to get them excused from the party so early, but he wasn't about to complain. "Mother, I'll—"

"We'll speak soon, dear, feel better."

Ah. So that was how.

"Yes, I'll try," Draco said as Potter's arm presented itself for his own to slip into. He grasped onto it and belatedly gave a feeble cough, though he realised he had no idea to what ailment he was meant to ascribe.

On their way out, Draco leaned in and hissed, "What were you and my mother chatting about?"

"Not here," was Potter's clipped reply.

They had to make a couple of impromptu stops on the way to the doors, but then somewhere in their polite exit, Potter must have decided enough was enough, and with a forced smile, he simply barrelled them through until they were outside. He didn't stop there, either. With a firm grip on Draco's arm, he walked them down the path and out the front gate. Only when they were well within the shadows of some centuries-old Malfoy gargoyle did he stop, turn abruptly to Draco, and say, "You're coming to mine. We need to talk."

~ 

 

"She said what?" Draco lifted his eyes from the teacup in his hands to Potter leaned against the mantel of his fireplace.

"She said to make sure the press got your good side. The left, is it?"

"She expects us to…?"

"Date. Publicly." Potter began to pace the room in front of where Draco sat on his sofa. "She expects photographic evidence, Malfoy."

"Well, we can tell her you're a private person who—"

"At Hogwarts didn't you practically make a career of telling people how much I love my fame?" Potter stopped near the window to spear him with a look.

Draco shrugged. "You've changed."

Potter barked a laugh. "Okay, well, we can argue about that one later. It doesn't change the fact that the press finds me. It always finds me. The _Prophet_ actually printed a picture of me sniffing a cantaloupe the other day. _'Saviour Switches Supermarkets.'_ A cantaloupe, Malfoy. They find me," he sighed. "And now your mother wants them to find us. A lot."

"She said 'a lot'?"

"She's got an empty photograph album at the ready."

"She has not."

Potter rolled his eyes, but there was a small, rueful smile tugging at one corner of his lips. He shook his head. "I just had no bloody idea your mum would be so very fond of…" He trailed off, gesturing between the two of them.

Draco wanted to argue, but unfortunately, he agreed. "I really hadn't either."

"So," Potter sighed. "What do we do about it?"

Draco cleared his throat. "By any chance, would you have any brandy I could pour into this?"

Potter gave a wry smile, pulled his wand, and _Accio'd_ the bottle.

~

They worked out a schedule around which they'd be seen out together. It was all quite doable, really. They were used to seeing one another all the time at the Ministry. What were a few times hanging out? Draco reminded himself that a month or so of fobbing about with Potter beat out a life married to a woman he'd met twice.

And for his part, Potter seemed to think prying Molly Weasley from his back was worth it as well.

It was near midnight when they wrapped up their plans and Draco made for Potter's door.

"You can Floo home from here," Potter informed him. "Your mum's right. It's pretty cold out for September. Plus, you can't conveniently be seen leaving here anyway. It's Unplottable."

"Oh," Draco said. "Right." It was only at that moment that he realised the impact of where they were. "It's been ages since I've been to this house. I nearly didn't recognise it."

Potter sighed. "It's taken a lot of work."

"Did you get that horrible screaming portrait off the wall then? I used to have nightmares about that thing." Draco could have kicked himself for admitting to such a weakness, but Potter took it in stride.

"Fuck, no," he laughed. "But Hermione did help me with a Fixative charm so that her curtain stays shut. It's quieted her down quite a lot."

"Huh," Draco grunted. Then he realised, "Granger and Weasley weren't there tonight. What have you told them?"

A strange look came over Potter's face briefly before he said, "The truth." He cleared his throat. "They're my best mates. I had to."

Draco nodded. "Right."

"What about for you?"

"Well, obviously Pansy knows. Since she's the evil hag who came up with this in the first place." He gave a weary roll of his eyes. "What about your other friends? The ones at the Ball tonight?" Draco felt his pulse speed up at finally being able to ask him.

To Draco's surprise, Potter began to blush. He scratched the back of his neck. "I, uh, I told them you have an undeniable verve."

Draco blinked. "A what?"

"I've no idea. It just came out."

Draco felt the laugh surge up his throat and strangled it, though he couldn't stop the wayward smile. "I never knew how odd you were, Potter."

"Never knew a lot of things," Potter replied.

"I could say the same of you."

"Guess that's all about to change." Potter stepped in close, prompting Draco's eyes to go a bit wide. He held his breath – until he realised it was only so that Potter could pick up the Floo powder from the mantel and hold it out to him. "Goodnight, Malfoy."

"Goodnight, Potter." Draco took some powder, threw it into the Floo, and stepped in. "One hundred one, east Woodsdale Drive," he said. And the last thing he saw before his own living room was Potter, in those impeccable robes, raising his brandy glass in farewell.

~~~

Draco had been prepared for the handful of dates he Potter would need to go on. He had _not_ prepared himself for training Monday morning.

As Draco stepped into the locker room to get changed, a whistle erupted down the bench. Bloody Nott. "Malfoy getting with the Chosen One," he smiled, and a couple of the others hooted. "What do you want to bet they have the full press corps at the foot of the bed when they shag."

"Fuck off, Theo," Draco said, slamming into his locker to hide the way he'd begun flushing with anger, lest it be taken for a blush.

"Is his dick as long as his wand, Draco? We all want to kno—"

Nott stopped abruptly, and Draco lifted his gaze to see the reason: Potter had come into the room. He looked nonchalant as ever, as though nothing had changed. He had his bag slung over his shoulder, and his trainers squeaked on the floor as he ambled in. He met Draco's gaze as he passed, laid a hand on Draco's back for a moment, murmured, "Hey," in a soft tone, and then proceeded to his locker like it was the most normal thing in the world.

And it shut Nott's mouth right up.

Draco suppressed a smile. He'd never seen anything that could shut Nott up except maybe the Christmas feast at Hogwarts. Nott rushed to pick up his things, and he and his cronies shuffled from the room. Draco glanced at Potter down the way, but he had his back turned. When he started to strip his shirt off, Draco ducked back into his own locker, grabbed what he needed, and left.

~

The rest of the day hadn't been so bad, nor the rest of the week. Their classes were all normal; there wasn't much time for anything except doing what you were supposed to or you risked a Stunner to the chest. Exams in both Advanced Charms and Arithmancy for Magical Code-Breaking meant everyone had their heads in their books when they weren't practising spells, eating, or going home to crash. Aside from the occasional looks, the whispers behind hands, the errant joke, people rather took him and Potter in stride. Like it was normal. Like it was bloody _expected_ or something. Even Potter seemed okay with all of it, taking the jokes with a smile or a confident roll of his eyes, maybe a quick, cutting remark for those like Nott who crossed a line. But, all in all, he was just Potter. He was Potter dating Malfoy, and anybody who had an actual problem with it could fuck off.

It was, like his steady arm, reassuring, and the week went quickly for it.

Not so, Saturday morning. It dragged along toward noon like the clock's second hand had an anchor strapped to it. Noon, of course, was their first official "date". And by the time 11am rolled around, Draco was pretty much a basketcase for no reason he could properly discern.

"Shopping and lunch." Draco straightened his shirt in the mirror and then promptly ripped it from his trousers and off his body, going, instead, with the blue.

Joan tilted her head at him from her perch in the bedroom.

"It's just bloody shopping and lunch," he told her as he buttoned the buttons with violent vigor. She hooted softly in what Draco took to be agreement, so he gave her an owl treat before setting off on his way.

They met at Flourish and Blotts. Draco could tell Potter was already inside because of the three photographers lying in wait by the door. They rallied when they saw Draco and began snapping shots of him, shouting questions like, "What are the perks of dating Harry Potter?" and "Do we hear wedding bells in the future, Mr Malfoy?" to which he only smiled tightly before ducking inside the shop to the tune of the bell over the door. He let out his breath in a rush.

He found Potter perusing cookbooks in aisle four, near the back.

"Feeling peckish?" Draco asked.

"If I were, I'd be at Fortescue's, not here." Potter looked up and gave him a little smile of hello. "No, it's Hagrid's birthday in a couple months. I thought I'd pick him up something, though I can't decide what." He flipped the page of the book in his hands and frowned down at it.

"How's he doing?" was all Draco could think to ask.

"You care?" Potter didn't raise his eyes.

Draco's jaw tightened. "I asked, didn't I?"

Potter's gaze flitted to his face. "Right. Sorry. He's good." 

He put back the book and ran his finger along the spines in front of him, snagging another and opening it somewhere in the middle, which struck Draco as a very Potter thing to do. Why bother with a little thing called the Table of Contents when you can just dive in at random? 

"I'm visiting him on his birthday up at Hogwarts, and I just know he's going to serve his rock cakes." Potter deposited that book and pulled down another. "They're abominable. Just terrifying. Ron broke a tooth on one once."

Draco winced. "So you're… finding him some new dessert recipes?" he guessed.

Potter looked at him. "Too transparent?"

"I wouldn't know, Potter."

Potter turned to him. "Well, say I got you a book on Transfiguration for your birthday. Would you think it was a subtle message that you need to brush up on your skills?"

"Well, yes," Draco said, "but that's because it's you and me."

Potter gave a little laugh that did weird things to Draco's stomach. "Suppose so."

Draco got caught up staring at the crooked curve of Potter's lips for a moment before a useful thought struck him. "Hold on," he said, turning to peruse the books himself. He ended up having to wander down the aisle, not-so-gently elbowing Potter aside so that he could take his place at the shelves. "Here," he said, pulling it down once he found the right one. "My mother bakes, and I've never seen her without this book open on the counter while she does it."

"Your mother bakes?"

"Yes."

"Since when?"

"Since forever."

"But don't you use house-elves for—"

"Do you want the book or not, Potter?" Draco thrust it into his chest rather hard.

Potter pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and read, " _Sugar Magic_. Hmm."

"Zero recipes for rock cakes, I'm certain of it."

Potter lifted his eyebrows. "Not bad. Thanks, Malfoy. Er, Draco. I suppose we'd better get used to first names."

Draco scoffed. "I am not saying Harry."

"You just did."

Draco rolled his eyes. "Fine, yes, I said it, but I'm not calling you that."

A very concerning look sparked in Potter's eyes then. He tucked the book under his arm and suddenly began backing Draco slowly down the aisle. "Honey?" he asked. "Sweetheart? Muffin?" He grinned evilly. "Sugar, perhaps? Pumpkin?" Draco's back hit the shelving, and Potter's voice dipped low. "… baby?"

Draco couldn't breathe. Potter stood so close they nearly touched, and Draco couldn't bloody breathe. Potter just waited, staring into Draco's eyes like some kind of thirsty vampire.

And then… Potter broke into a huge grin. He backed off, and Draco felt his face flaming hot with anger. Potter strode away and left Draco there. "Harry's sounding better and better, isn't it, Draco?"

Draco sagged against the stacks, panting like he'd run the Quidditch pitch from one end to the other. He watched Potter's retreating back, and if eyes could Hex, Potter would have been on the bloody floor.

~

"Are you ready?" Potter asked when they'd made their purchases and had nothing left to do but walk out.

"As I'll ever be. You?"

"Sure. No sweat."

"Not even a little sweat?" Draco asked and then wanted to _Silencio_ himself for how it sounded like a tease rather than the jibe he'd intended. Merlin, he was out of practice since their school days.

Potter raised an eyebrow at him, so before he could reply, Draco continued with a harsh sigh, "Let's just get it over with."

"Let's," Potter said. Then he situated his hand against Draco's lower back, he opened the door, and the flashbulbs started going off. Potter steered him onto the pavement, and there they stopped. Potter gave an easy but probably practised smile to the small gathering of reporters, his hand never leaving its warm spot at Draco's back.

"Hi," Potter said, nodding. "Parker, good to see you." Then to another, "Hi."

They stood there getting their photograph made for several weird seconds, both of them ignoring the same sorts of questions that got hurled at Draco on his way in, and then Potter turned his head and looked at Draco, murmuring lowly, "Do you trust me?"

"Trust you to what?" Draco asked, alarmed.

Potter slipped his hand into Draco's, linking their fingers. Draco suppressed a gasp of surprise at the intimacy. It was then he felt the rush of magic. There was a great swooshing, a tugging, and they Apparated, landing on a different pavement in a flash. It took Draco a moment to process that they'd Side-Alonged, and then another to ascertain that they were now just outside the Leaky Cauldron.

"But… I…" Draco looked back from where they'd come. "It's only a five minute walk."

"Yeah, but we get a few moments of peace this way. Don't worry, they'll figure out where we've gone and catch up shortly." Potter held the door for him.

It wasn't until the food was set in front of him that Draco realised he was bloody starving.

"I can't believe you ordered Ploughman's Lunch." Potter shook his head. "I can't believe you agreed to eat here at all actually."

"What, I'm an aristocratic pureblood, so I can't eat cheese? Don't be a twat."

Potter shrugged.

"The Ministry cafeteria has given me an appreciation for all things edible, Potter."

Potter snorted, drowned his plate in vinegar, and then ate a handful of dripping chips. "When was the last time you ate here?"

"Years. You?" Draco savoured the warm bread, following it with a bite of tangy, cold pickle.

"Mm." Potter finished chewing. "I like to stop in at least every year the week before all the new students get on the train to Hogwarts. It brings back good memories."

There was so much packed into that statement, Draco hardly knew where to start first. So he went with the dig that came naturally. "Pervert."

Potter choked on a wayward chuckle and threw a soggy chip at him, which Draco dodged, hiding behind his napkin. "Arsehole," Potter complained, though there was still an affronted laugh in his voice.

"Careful. I might decide to break up with you," Draco told him, smoothing the napkin back across his lap.

Potter snorted and ate a chip. 

"In all seriousness, don't you get mobbed, coming here at such a busy time?"

"Disillusionment charms, Glamours…" Potter waved his fork and then cut into his fish.

"You do that a lot?"

Potter gave a shrug. "Enough."

"So, I take it you'd be in the papers twice as often if you didn't?"

Draco looked for signs of the boy he thought he knew from school and saw the opposite. A cringe of discomfort crossed Potter's face, and he gave Draco a withering look. "Probably more. Why do you think all their photos are of me sniffing fruit or with some ridiculous look on my face? I don't pose for them on purpose. Today's an exception to the rule."

"But you can't just go out under a Glamour every time you want to buy a cantaloupe," Draco protested.

"Clearly, I don't. I've also just got good at evading them." Now Potter gave him a small, conspiratorial smile.

Draco felt supremely uncomfortable with Potter looking at him like that, so he dropped his gaze and concentrated on his food.

They ate in silence for a while, and it was weird that it didn't feel… well, weird. Draco lost himself in thoughts of who he'd thought Potter to be versus who was being revealed to him now. He never would have thought that Potter would just open up about whatever was asked of him. Not to Draco, at least. Draco had assumed it would be a fight, if even he'd ever decided to ask Potter anything. And it wasn't as though he wasn't aware of his own curiosity. Draco could, at times, be a master of denial, but regarding his sick fascination with Potter… well, it was difficult to ignore. Far easier to just resignedly accept it. It wasn't as though he was unique in that regard; most of the Wizarding world craved access to all things Harry Potter.

Yet, he was only now seeing how uncomfortable for Potter that was. How idiotic, that he'd assumed Potter thrived on the repeated invasions into his life. Draco found himself speaking before he'd weighed the risk in doing so. "I was so relieved to leave behind the press after the war trials. I can't imagine if they were still hounding me." He huffed a bemused laugh. "Well, I suppose now they are, aren't they?"

Potter smirked at him. "But whose fault is that?"

Draco rolled his eyes. "My bloody parents."

Potter took a drink of his butterbeer and cleared his throat. "May I ask you a personal question?"

Draco startled, unused to the quick and easy way Potter simply said what was on his mind without regard to societal expectation. "I… I suppose." He gave Potter a wary look.

"Are you bent, Draco? I mean, more than a little?"

Draco inhaled sharply, his breath getting caught in the sudden tightness of his own lungs. "Well," he said, "you certainly don't dance around a topic, do you, Potter?"

"No, I guess I don't." His gaze was so clear, so certain, but not without a measure of compassion.

"I—" Draco began. "Nobody's ever asked me that."

"Not even Parkinson?"

"Fuck no," Draco snorted. Then, before he could stop himself, "She knew." It was as close to an admission as he'd ever come. People had made their assumptions about him, and since they were largely correct, it had been easier to simply say nothing. Except that they were never really correct when they presumed that Draco swayed either way. And Draco had known it. For a long time he'd known it. It was only Potter now who was forcing the issue, albeit in his own gentle and patient way. Still, it felt like a python slowly winding itself around his chest, forcing the air from his lungs and choking the life out of him.

But Potter was smiling at him. Just a little bit. It felt like a lifeline, and Draco decided to let it be one. "She and I tried dating for about five minutes," Draco said. Then he found himself smiling. "Pansy'll date anyone for five minutes."

Potter chuckled.

"It was she who told _me_ , actually. I was a bit daft about it, I guess." He shrugged and took a bite of cheese on bread for something to do.

"So, Astoria?"

"My parents' idea. I think they chose her more for her name than because they thought they could turn me straight."

"So," Potter said. "You are then."

Draco met Potter's steady gaze. He swallowed. "Gay?"

Potter nodded.

Draco felt brittle, as though pieces of him might just crack like glass and shatter on the floor.

"Yeah. I am. You happy, Potter?" The words came tumbling out. But once they were out, an odd sort of relief washed over him. Bloody hell, he'd said it.

"'You happy, Harry,'" Potter corrected, though the soft expression remained on his face.

"Is it that you _want_ to be hexed?"

"No, I'm just curious about why it bothers you so much. It's only my name."

"So's the other one."

Now Potter rolled his eyes. "You are bloody impossible."

"You're not so possible yourself."

Potter's smile took on a warmth that erred to the uncomfortable, and once again, Draco dropped his gaze from it. "We could never really date, you and me," he said, straightening the napkin on his lap. "We'd kill each other."

"Haven't killed you yet," Potter pointed out, surreptitiously stealing a bit of warm bread from Draco's plate and munching on it.

"Yeah, well _I'm_ close."

"No, you're not."

Draco took a deep breath, attempting to ignore the blush Potter's statement inexplicably induced.

The flashbulb going off outside the window next to their table made Draco start.

"Told you," Potter said with a weary look.

"Well, at least we've nearly finished."

Potter waved over a waiter for the check, and then when Draco attempted to pay, shooed him off. "Next time," he said. "If you really want to."

"Fair enough," Draco allowed. "So, how do we do this? What do you think they expect?"

"Who? _The Prophet_? Or your parents? I'd think you'd know that better than I would." Potter smirked. "They're getting your left side, so I suppose your mum will be pleased."

"Right, apparently that's of the utmost importance."

"Personally, I don't see a lot of difference," Potter said, narrowing his eyes behind his owlish glasses and concentrating on Draco's face in a way that made Draco want to flee. "Your nose is very regal, very straight. Almost as though it's never been _broken_."

Potter seemed like he was merely taking the piss, not seeking an apology. Still, Draco flinched. He thought about saying he was sorry, but the words died somewhere near his throat. "If it's any consolation," he said instead, "whoever fixed yours for you did a fair job."

A stray sadness flitted over Potter's expression briefly. "Tonks," he said. "And yes, she did. But back to your face."

"Must you?"

"Yes," Potter said, a gleam in his eyes now. "Your cheekbones are almost shockingly high. They're sharp, like knives. But when you blush like that, I can see that there's a roundness I never would have known about otherwise."

"Fuck right off, Potter." Draco cursed the fact that the apples of his cheeks pinked still further.

"Your chin's maybe even pointier than when we were in school, and that's saying something."

Draco lifted it in defiance.

"Then there's where your jaw meets that spot." He tilted his head slightly, finding the place he referenced with his fingers on his own neck. "It's not quite your neck and not quite your ear."

"Merlin, you're a poet," Draco said disdainfully. But his pulse had begun to fire at his throat, and warmth suffused his skin.

"The left side… it's maybe just a little softer than the right. When you swallow like that, it goes rigid for a moment, your jaw… Like it's protecting that soft spot, just behind." Potter's voice had become quite soft, his gaze wondering. Draco felt that very place just past his jaw tingle and he wanted to rub it. Instead he clenched his hands together in his lap to stop their trembling.

In the next moment, Potter's eyes lit with humour, his smile widening.

"You fucker," Draco said. "If they weren't all right there, I'd lay you out."

"Why? For thinking you're pretty?"

Draco startled.

"Relax, Draco. I'm not coming on to you." He took a last drink of his butterbeer. "I know what this is. The fact that I find you easy on the eyes is just…" Potter shrugged.

"Just what?" Draco didn't want to ask, but his mouth had usurped his brain suddenly.

Potter smirked at him. "A bonus."

"Right," Draco fairly breathed. Then he collected himself. "I suppose I'd definitely find this whole thing much more bearable if you didn't so strongly resemble a mountain troll."

Potter laughed, and the sound was deep and easy. He scooted his chair back and stood, so Draco followed suit. He picked up his peacoat, becoming very preoccupied with shaking it out. "So, erm, what should we do then? We never actually…"

"I think I should kiss you on the cheek," Potter said.

"What? Really?"

"I'm going to kiss you on the cheek."

"I don't know if that's nec—" But Draco had turned to look at him right when Potter leaned in, and instead of Potter's lips connecting with his cheek – which would have been awkward enough – they instead landed right on his own parted lips, stifling his speech into a muffled groan.

It didn't last long, and yet it seemed to go on ages. Long enough for Draco to process the shock of it, to notice that Potter's lips were softer than he might have expected, if he'd have ever expected to be kissing Potter. There was plenty of time to regret eating cheese and pickles for Merlin's bloody sake.

And he had enough time to feel Potter's kiss, as innocent as it remained on the surface, down to his bones.

There was certainly enough time for flashbulbs to go mad outside the window.

Potter pulled back, looking briefly as surprised as Draco felt, before he gave an apologetic quirk of a smile. "Sorry about that. I missed."

"It was a good miss," Draco blurted.

Potter blinked, and Draco hurried to correct it, eyes going wide.

"No, I— I just meant that…" He sighed. "It's just that if I'd turned my head differently you might have snogged my ear or something." He put all of his attention and energy into shrugging his coat on.

Potter reached out and helped him into it, and once again the cameras went wild. Potter straightened Draco's collar where it got tucked weirdly against his neck, and Draco just stood there and flushed with what could only be embarrassment.

"Merlin, let's just go."

"Right," Potter said softly, his hand dropping from Draco's collar.

They decided to take turns at the Leaky's Floo, well out of the way of any curious camera lenses. Draco said his polite goodbyes to Potter, with a reminder that they were meant to get together the next Friday at the pub.

"And I was thinking," Potter added with Draco's hand poised to throw down the powder. "Maybe we ought to sit together. At lunch. You know, during the week."

"Oh." Draco nodded. "Right, sure. That makes sense, Potter."

"Harry."

Draco rolled his eyes, stepped over the grate, and Floo'd away.

As he stepped into his own quiet flat, he realised he could still feel it: the vague tingling memory of Potter's lips against his own.

~~~

Pansy slapped the paper down in front of him. "Seriously?"

Draco winced at the half page photo of Potter's lips landing on his and the four seconds of shocked, unmoving lip contact that followed. And the caption: "Potter and Malfoy lip-lock!" Followed by a short and boring – he'd already read it over his morning tea – account of their "blissful" afternoon.

Draco, casting an embarrassed look around the cafeteria, tried to fold the paper so that the photo no longer showed.

But Pansy wasn't having it. She lifted the page and shook it in front of his face. "This?" she said. "Is pathetic!"

He pulled his wand and Banished the thing from her hands. At her affronted look he added, "You're next if you can't keep your voice down."

She leaned back in her chair, arms crossed, and ignored what was some form of casserole steaming on her plate in order to nag him. "You need to practise."

"What?"

"That's the most awkward looking kiss I've ever bloody seen. Merlin, Draco, I had higher hopes for you. And Potter, too. I would have thought the Saviour would know how to snog better than that."

"It was an accident. He was aiming for my cheek. It wasn't supposed to—" He cut himself off and leaned back in his own chair. "It was an accident."

"Looks it," she said. "Draco, really, what would it hurt?" She got a particularly sly look on her face. "It might even feel a bit… good." She wrinkled her nose briefly and leaned forward a little. "You know, in your stomach. Like a little flutter." She got absurdly breathier. "Like you might want more and yet you know you should stop, but his lips are just so—"

"Shut it."

Her predatory expression spread into an actual smile. "That's what you're afraid of, isn't it? That if you and Potter practise—"

"Practise what?" came Potter's voice from beside them.

Merlin, he could just skip all their Stealth classes from here on out. It was an eerie and irritating talent he possessed for sneaking up on people.

"I'll let Draco inform you. I'm late for… something."

Draco rolled his eyes as Pansy fled with her cafeteria tray, and Potter sat, taking her place.

"Lasagna?" Draco asked. "I hear it's actually passable as food."

"Practise what?"

Draco sighed. Try as he might, he couldn't come up with a fast enough lie, and Potter simply waited him out, unwilling to take pity and change the subject.

Finally Draco just spit it out. "She thinks we ought to practise kissing."

Potter got an annoyingly charmed look on his face. "Was that so difficult, Draco?"

"I just think it's ridiculous," Draco said, and then could have kicked himself for adding, "Don't you?"

Potter gave a considering look and swallowed his bite. "I dunno. Sort of makes sense if you ask me."

Draco huffed, "I _did_ just ask you, Potter."

Potter lifted a brow.

" _Harry_ ," Draco amended. "Salazar, I had no idea how much you'd get off hearing me say it."

Potter dropped his gaze to his plate. He concentrated on cutting into the too-soft pasta like it was a toothsome steak. "I just think Parkinson has a point. That's all."

Draco gave a little snort. "I didn't think we were _that_ bad at it."

Potter peeked up, fork halfway to his mouth. "You didn't?"

Draco shrugged, looking around the room, anywhere but at Potter's face. "For a completely accidental snog, no."

"Right," Potter replied. "But…"

There was a long pause where no one spoke and it seemed to thicken in the air between them.

Draco broke it. "Well, I suppose it wouldn't hurt to make sure that if ever there's a need for it that, you know…"

"Sure." Potter shrugged. "Just in case."

"Right," Draco said, finally looking at him.

"It's not a bad idea. To practise a bit."

"Good," Draco said. "I mean, that's fine." He gave his eyes a bit of an exasperated roll.

They moved on to discussing other things – how hard Jacobs was working them in her Advanced Charms class, who should be partnered with whom once they all became Aurors (though they were both careful not to mention themselves or each other) – but none of that erased that Draco now knew they'd eventually kiss. Really kiss. Well, not _really_. They'd really fake kiss. Or something.

All that was left, was when.

~

The day seemed to drag on, with Magical Law and Poisonous Potions in the morning and both Concealment & Disguise and Advanced Defence in the afternoon. By the end, Draco was exhausted. He'd nearly decided just to Floo home with the sweat of the day still on him, but the stench of exertion clung to his skin like a slime, and he couldn't bear the thought of bringing that home with him, so he trudged his way into the showers. He washed himself on automatic, eyes closed, the hot water pounding away at his tired muscles. He must have stood there for longer than he realised, however, because once he turned off the water and slung a towel around his hips to exit, the locker room was nearly empty. Only Weasley and Potter remained.

And, fuck it all, Potter was only in a pair of loose jeans while he and Weasley spoke at one end of the row of lockers. Potter stood there with a t-shirt on his arms, too intent on speaking to Weasley to just raise it up and pull it over his stupid head. Draco hastily turned his back on him and opened his own locker at the opposite end. He dropped the towel and went rummaging for his clean pants, unable not to eavesdrop on the conversation down the way.

"Harry. Harry! Hello?"

"What? I'm sorry, what?"

"I was reminding you about Friday night, mate."

Draco pulled up his pants and then donned his trousers, his ears prickling to hear.

"Oh, right. Er, yeah, are we bringing gifts to the pub or what?"

"Nah, we're just buying Seamus a few rounds and then there's cake."

There was a pause, and Draco tried not to act as though he was listening while he rummaged for his shirt.

"Harry!" Weasley bellowed.

"Great," Harry replied. "I heard you. Beer and cake. Sounds disgusting."

"Yeah, Seamus'll love it." Weasley snorted. "Alright, see you tomorrow." Then, as he passed on his way out, "Malfoy."

Draco gave him a short nod.

He gave a surreptitious glance over his shoulder to see that Potter had, thank Merlin, put his shirt on and was lacing up a pair of boots. Not trainers today, like he was still fifteen years old. No, Potter had chosen a pair of big, black, heavy boots. Draco wasn't sure why this irked him so, but he found himself grinding his teeth a bit. He turned back to his own locker and had nearly got his shirt buttoned all the way up when he heard Potter's booted approach.

"Hey," Potter said.

Draco turned to give him an off-hand smile and a "Good evening, Potter," or rather " _Harry_ " when he suddenly realised Potter was standing rather closer than he'd expected.

"There's no one around," Potter said. Draco watched him swallow. "Do you want to practise?"

"I…" Draco breathed. _Fuck._ His blood was stampeding through his veins. "Yes," he said. "I mean, sure. If you want to." 

Potter nodded, and when he took another step closer, Draco gasped, his back hitting the lockers with a dull bang. Potter reached out, curling a bit of Draco's hair behind his ear. Draco's eyes went wide. Then Potter wrapped his hand around the base of Draco's skull as he neared. He tilted his head, half-closed his eyes, and met Draco's stunned lips with his own.

Draco stood stiffly for but a moment. Then Potter's fingers on his neck tightened, just slightly. His tongue touched Draco's bottom lip. And as though the gesture were laced with magic, Draco parted his lips, all his muscles softening.

And _fuck, fuck, holy damned fuck!_ Potter deepened the kiss, touching his tongue to Draco's, and before he knew what he was doing, Draco angled his head to make it easier. His hand grasped onto Potter's hip, the other recklessly smoothing up his front, up his hard chest, to the hot skin of his stubbled throat, around his neck – and Draco _groaned_.

They kissed a little harder after that, still deep, angling differently, and Potter's other hand came around Draco's lower back, pulling him closer. Their bodies pressed flush, and Draco's cock began to get hard, but for that moment, he didn't even care if Potter felt it. He didn't care about anything except that this was the best kiss of his bloody _life_.

A small sound left his throat at the same time Potter pulled back out of the kiss, so that the noise, rather than muffled into Potter's mouth, hit empty air, filling the room with a ridiculously mortifying mewl. Not that Potter seemed to care. He stood there, half out of breath and staring at Draco's lips with darkened eyes. Draco licked his lips compulsively, and Potter's lashes fluttered in a cluster of blinks. He lifted his gaze and looked into Draco's eyes. "How was that?"

Draco just stared at him for a moment, then he gulped and barely got out, "Yeah, th-that was f-fine." He cleared his throat. "Fine."

Potter nodded, frowning faintly now and stepping back still further, his hands dropping from Draco's body. "Right," he said. "Good." Then before Draco had even collected himself enough to breathe regularly, Potter said, "Night, Draco," and he turned around and left.

Draco waited until he could no longer hear Potter's boots – and then he sank back against the lockers, sliding down into a useless heap on the floor.

~~~

They had a Floo call Wednesday evening during which they decided that the best plan was to just meet at the pub. No need to be seen together on the way in, Potter had said. Apparently, there were often plain-clothes reporters lurking in pubs for stories, and Potter wasn't worried about one of them providing a short blurb on them the next day.

"And dress casual," he'd said near the end, an afterthought.

"Excuse me?"

Potter's fiery head tilted in the hearth. "You know… just nothing dressy."

"Right, sure," Draco had replied, but when they'd ended the call, he'd sat on his floor frowning at the cold logs for several minutes before getting up and rampaging his own closets.

Draco felt fairly certain nothing in there would be what Potter was talking about. These were Potter's friends, not his own. He didn't want to be the only one sitting there in pressed trousers while Seamus Finnigan stuffed his face with cake.

So Draco had done the unthinkable: He'd gone shopping for jeans.

He'd forced Pansy to come along with him, and together they'd picked out a black pair that she said made his arse look like a cupcake. He'd rolled his eyes at the comparison, but, well, he'd bought them, hadn't he?

They completed the look with a thin, v-neck, charcoal jumper and a pair of low-riding boots. In the end he knew it wasn't casual enough, but it was certainly better than anything he already owned, and at least it was still something that made him feel rather like himself. As opposed to looking like a Weasley, Merlin forbid.

Or like Potter. But really, only Potter could properly pull off looking like Potter, Draco suspected.

The locker room incident was never far from his mind – not shopping, not at the Ministry, not trying to sleep, nowhere. It crept up on him, much like Potter himself, and Draco would catch himself not listening to an important lecture on ethics in performing arrests or, worse, in Defence, which led to Susan Bones slamming him with a Bat Bogey.

It was on his mind when he studiously did _not_ shower in the locker room after training but took his sweaty self home to his own bathroom to avoid Potter and his "practice kissing" altogether.

Although, Draco realised, the dangers of wanking increased in one's own shower. He found himself slowly stroking his cock before he had even made the conscious decision to go ahead and do it. He firmed his jaw and hurriedly scrubbed himself clean instead, ignoring his half-hard prick until the stupid thing went down on its own. Pondering magical law was good for something after all.

Because he would _not_ wank over Potter, for fuck's sake. Merlin, he hadn't succumbed to that since… fifth year? No, there were a couple times that last year when they went back for NEWTs, after the trials. And there was that one time a few months ago after he and Potter had been assigned to duel together. And, okay, a few weeks ago when he'd accidentally peeked into the showers when Potter's curtain hadn't been drawn quite all the way closed. The soap suds had trailed down Potter's spine, into the crack of his arse and…

That thing about Potter resembling a mountain troll? Yeah, it was bollocks.

But those were the only times. And he certainly couldn't do that _now_. Not during their current situation, which was still nothing. It wouldn't keep being nothing if he did _that_. Well, it would keep being nothing to Potter. And it wasn't as though Draco wanking at the thought of him had ever been that big of a problem before. He could hate and wank simultaneously. And the hate always won out in the end. Just because he didn't hate Potter anymore didn't make it the end of the world. Not when, finally, there was no end of the world in immediate sight.

"Shut the fuck up," he sighed to himself as he laid out his clothes. He took a towel to his wet head rather violently.

These circumstances wouldn't last forever. At some point it would be safe for them to quietly "break up" and go on with their lives. He could wank over Harry after that.

Draco stopped in his damp tracks.

_Harry…_

"Bloody bastard son of a…" Draco forcefully sent his towel to fling itself over his shower rod, wishing he could Banish Potter from his mind as well, and proceeded to dress.

~

Due to the time spent on his hair, Draco was late. He Apparated down the pavement from the pub rather than the slightly farther away Apparition point, and a man pushing a pram full of sleeping twin toddlers had to swerve. "Oi!"

Being that it was Friday night, the pavement was full of witches and wizards coming from dinner or getting some shopping done, families hurrying home because it was getting too late to be out with small, whinging children. Draco shoved black-gloved hands into the pockets of his cloak and walked at a brisk pace through the onset of early Fall cold that made his breath visible.

He entered the recently opened Hog's Head the Second on the newly well-lit Knockturn strip, spying a coat rack as the magical warmth tingled through his hands and feet. He deposited his gloves in his pockets and was preparing to shuck off his cloak when he heard the voice of Dean Thomas from a back corner of the room. "Malfoy!" he shouted, standing and giving a wave.

Draco returned the salutation and hung his coat, making his way over to the table full of people he was still mostly uncertain around and who, most likely, still felt uncertain with him. It was a relief, actually, to spy Potter sitting at the edge of the large circular booth they inhabited. Draco was apparently the last to arrive, because unless they started investing in wizarding space, no one else was going to fit in there.

As he approached, Draco gave Potter a little smile. But the git apparently didn't see the need to return it. He just sat there staring with his mouth half-open like he'd been Stunned. The mannerless fool. It was going to be a long night if this was the extent of his welcome to the group. Potter was his liaison for fuck's sake, and it was as though he was shocked to even see Draco here, despite having been the one who invited him!

Draco's jaw began to stiffen, anger rising familiarly in his throat, when Weasley, next to Potter, gave him an elbow in the side, and Lovegood said, "Mind the drool, Harry."

Potter promptly shut his gaping mouth and cleared his throat, a fast rosy blush rising to his cheeks in a way to which Draco had never been witness.

Oh.

_Oh._

Draco's blood began to race just under his skin. He studied Potter's face, not with wariness now but with something much more like fascination. Potter's gaze raked down Draco's body openly before sliding back up to meet his gaze, only to blink at him.

Draco felt a pleasurable heat suffuse his body beneath the new clothes, and he couldn't help shooting Potter a small, crooked grin.

Another elbow from Weasley, and Potter quickly stood, striding over to him and leaning in to kiss his cheek, his warm hand fitting to Draco's waist as he did so.

"You look…" Potter breathed against his skin. Draco shivered slightly. "I've never seen you…" 

Draco pulled back just enough to see that Potter's eyes, behind his glasses, were dark. He let himself smile a little wider. "As you pointed out before, that can't really hurt our predicament, can it?" Then, because Potter's continued stupefiedness emboldened him, Draco added, casting his gaze down Potter's body, "You look reasonably good yourself." He met Potter's eyes again and, before he could talk himself out of it, leaned in and pressed a quick kiss on Potter's lips. He turned away before Potter could react and looked to Longbottom at the end of the booth. "May I?"

"Budge up, Neville," an already tipsy Seamus said, and that whole half of the booth made room for him.

Once Draco was sat, Potter seemed to regain his senses. "Well," he sighed, "I'm up. I suppose that means the next round's on me. Same for everyone? Draco?"

"I'll have a beer."

Potter raised his eyebrows.

Draco raised one back at him.

"Sure, okay. Be right back."

Draco watched him make a serpentine path on his way to the bar. Potter wore blue jeans that fit him for once, a red t-shirt that seemed less like a Gryffindor taunt and more like a Christmas gift Draco would all too readily like to unwrap. He felt himself smiling slightly as he watched his fake boyfriend walk away.

For the first time in a very long time, Draco felt like he might just have won something against Potter, and maybe in a fashion by which no one ultimately had to lose.

Perhaps this evening could be a bit of fun after all.

When he belatedly turned his attention back to the table, it was to find Weasley and Granger across from him sharing a loaded look with each other. Draco cleared his throat and tried to replace what he had to assume was a watching-Potter's-arse expression on his face with something more publicly acceptable.

It wasn't long before he got swept up into a conversation with Thomas about Quidditch, into which Weasley and Cho Chang joined passionately. When a body nudged into his side, Draco budged up on instinct only to realise it was Potter scooting in next to him.

"Here we are," he said, charming everyone's orders to alight in front of them.

"Thanks, Harry!" Seamus shouted, and Ron lifted his pint.

"Thanks, Harry," Draco said, gracing him with a twitch of a smirk.

Potter's eyes lit up as he returned Draco's smirk with his own smile, prompting Draco to wonder if he'd slung back a quick shot at the bar and was already on his way to a decent buzz. When he lifted his arm and let it rest along the back of the booth behind him, Draco assumed he'd been correct about that. Potter's thumb brushed against Draco's shoulder once and then came to rest, still touching him. Draco took a long pull from his beer bottle to quell the shiver of excitement that wanted to dance down his spine.

 _It's not real,_ he reminded himself forcefully.

But there wasn't anything wrong with letting himself enjoy it for a night, was there? Involuntarily, he flashed on the two or three times over the past couple of years when he'd pulled a dark-haired bloke in glasses and tried to pretend it didn't mean anything. It really _hadn't_ meant anything. So, Draco had a type. Big bloody deal.

Draco waited for his inner voice to loudly contradict him, but the warning silence it issued instead was quite enough. Still… He was in this now. At this point, it was either enjoy an evening with Potter's arm slung possessively behind him or get up and leave. And he certainly wasn't about to do that. They had to get their Saturday blurb in the papers after all. 

_Yeah, right,_ the little voice piped up yet again. Draco took another sip of his beer and metaphorically gagged the annoying voice quiet. 

Weasley started up a conversation about when they'd get fitted for their Auror uniforms, which became a discussion on when they'd be partnered up for their probationary fieldwork in the Spring. 

Draco found conversation amongst a majority of Gryffindors not so horrible after all. True, he'd got rather used to several of them in Auror training, but this was the first he'd voluntarily spent more than five minutes with any one of them at a time. There were Lovegood and Chang, too, of course, but he'd always nurtured a less bitter affinity for Ravenclaws anyway. 

Not to mention, there was Potter's arm radiating warmth at his back, his thumb casually stroking over Draco's shoulder absently as he talked, as though it was merely an errant gesture his hand engaged in when he decided to make a strong point. 

After two and a half beers, Draco was getting so used to Potter's arm, as well as all the non-Slytherin company, that when his own friend's voice rang through the room, he startled. 

"Hello, all! Sorry we're late!" 

"Pansy?" Draco blurted, only to realise Blaise and Millicent had also strolled in on her heels. "What…?" 

"I invited her," Potter told him. "Told her to bring some friends." He shrugged, finally removing his arm from around Draco's back, though now his hand decided to come to rest above Draco's knee under the table. He leaned in and murmured in Draco's ear, "I thought it'd be good if some of your friends came, too." 

"But didn't bother to tell me?" Draco huffed. Although it seemed a small (and rather half-considerate) thing to get up in arms about. Plus, Potter's hand was on his thigh, his voice close in Draco's ear, and all that business was doing a fair job of obliterating any and all thought, so…

"What on earth is this one drinking?" Pansy said, having drawn her wand to wizard herself and the others some space.

Draco realised she was speaking of his beer. "It's beer," he said, his head buzzing a bit in the process.

"Oh that bloody well won't do. Firewhiskies for the table. On me," she announced. And probably as of that moment and no sooner, Pansy Parkinson tucked every single Gryffindor in the Auror department squarely into her back pocket. Draco had to admire her Slytherin prowess. If you can't beat them, bribe them and get them hammered.

The shot went straight to Draco's head and he found himself wishing for Seamus' birthday cake to arrive. Although once it did, delivered by a suddenly Apparated house-elf, Draco could hardly stand the sight. For one thing, it was half purple. The other half really defied description. Draco wound up glad he didn't try it, not with Weasley's reaction at any rate, which was something along the lines of, 'Bloody hell, Seamus what the bloody fuck is this?' after which he bought a load of chips for the entire table. From what Draco had gleaned, if Weasley wouldn't eat something, you knew it was bad.

Seamus explained that it had been a favourite of his as a child. "It's Bertie Bott's Every Flavour cake."

"Explains everything," Draco said.

Potter breathed out a laugh, his hand giving a brief squeeze on Draco's thigh. And Draco willed himself not to get a hard-on.

"So, Harry," Thomas called from across the table. "Word in Magical Games and Sports is that you cast _Alarte Ascendare_ so strong at MacMillan in Defence the other day that he dented the ceiling." He sipped some frightening green concoction that made clattering noises every so often.

"Right," Millicent chimed in. "We heard that all the way in Transportation, too."

Potter scoffed, his cheeks going an endearing pink, and it seemed he couldn't quite meet anyone's eyes for the moment. "It wasn't anything like that."

But Draco had seen it. He'd just recovered from Susan's Bat Bogey in fact and so had an unimpeded view of the spell and its results. There wasn't just a dent; a big chunk of the ceiling had crumbled down in MacMillan's wake. Potter had _Protego'd_ him just in time before the whole thing had avalanched onto his prone body.

"Bloody hell, it was wicked!" Weasley said, his red cheeks and shining eyes clear indications of both his drunkenness and an obvious admiration for his friend.

Potter blushed still further.

Draco cleared his throat, seizing the opportunity to wrangle things in on Potter's behalf in a way only Draco could accomplish with the necessary aplomb. "Rubbish," he said. "MacMillan went three feet off the ground if he went an inch."

Potter's gaze snapped to his, but mixed with the usual heat of his aggravation was a healthy dose of humour. He raised his elbow and shoved at Draco, pushing him into Longbottom's side as the latter was attempting a sip of his drink.

"Hey now," Longbottom whined.

Draco righted himself.

"You're a massive twat," Potter said, smirking.

"Yes, well, we can't all be your sycophants, Potter," Draco sniffed. "Thought you needed taken down a peg."

"The _ceiling_ came down!" Weasley looked entirely too flummoxed by the exchange.

Granger had to murmur to him, "He's winding Harry up, Ron. Or rather _you_." She rolled her eyes, but when Weasley turned his blinking incomprehension on her, she softened with ready affection. "You idiot," she smiled, and Weasley, probably forgetting the former topic of conversation completely, mooned back at her as though he was on a Love Potion.

Draco dismayed at finding himself with a fond smirk on his own lips, watching them. He was caught out in it when Potter's hand landed on his thigh where it had left off – but then brushed up an inch further.

Draco stopped himself gasping, but just. His cock responded to the unintentional promise in the stroke of Potter's fingers up his inseam. Shit. He should have brought himself off in the shower after all.

Draco took another pull on his beer and resisted the totally slaggy temptation to be blatantly obvious and part his thighs.

A couple rounds, and several ridiculous and sometimes salacious discussions later, each rising a bit in volume the drunker they all got, and Seamus had the fantastic idea to head down the alley to the new club, Baritone Banshee.

"Yes!" Weasley agreed.

"Oh let's!" Lovegood clapped.

Pretty much everyone else, including Draco's friends, agreed. It was only Potter who gave Draco a look that seemed part wary and part question. And truth be told, if Draco hadn't been a little more than tipsy, he'd probably have made the only sane decision there was and gone home to sleep it all off. But as things stood…

"Oh come on," Draco needled against the better judgement of his now-gagged inner voice. "Don't piss on our bonfire, Potter. It doesn't become you." Draco smirked at him, his eyes flashing.

Potter frowned a bit more. He bit his bottom lip, which Draco found unfairly distracting. But then he assented. "Sure. Okay." He smiled around at the group and began to shove out of the booth.

Draco followed, his steps less unsteady than he'd feared. He was about to bypass the coat rack, however, and unintentionally donate his cloak and gloves to the establishment, when Potter stopped him with a quiet, "Hey," and a hand on his shoulder.

Potter fetched his cloak for him and helped Draco into it – which, to be perfectly honest, was probably a good thing just now since Draco counted three potential sleeves.

The "thank you" that came out of his mouth was a complete accident.

Their group made its way – laughing and talking, though he and Potter were, for the most part, silent – down to the club, from which the music streaming through the open door could be heard more than a street away. The bass rattled Draco's bones, and the flashing lights burst out onto the alley in rhythmic flares.

The alcohol dulled any remaining anxiety, and as they filed inside and the music only got impossibly louder, all Draco was left with was a sense of excitement. The newest Weird Sisters' song filled Draco's ears, banged about inside his chest, and vibrated up his legs, and as they made their way to the bar, he felt Potter close at his back.

There were few seats, and Potter, chivalrous as ever, gestured for Draco to take one while he opted to stand close by. Very close by. The bar was crowded with people, either ensconced for the night or only there to quench a thirst before roving back out onto the dancefloor.

Their group all did a round of vodka Gillywaters, toasting Seamus, and then Draco turned on his barstool to watch the people dancing under the erratic pulse of lights.

Potter leaned down to speak directly into Draco's ear. "Care to share a beer? I don't think I ought to have a whole one." It was the first indication that Potter's level of inebriation might rival his own.

Draco gave him a nod, and Potter signaled one of the three bartenders over. When the bottle arrived, Draco went to pay, and he and Potter had a brief skirmish over it, Draco grabbing Potter's hand with the Sickles in it off the bar and Potter doing the same to Draco.

"Fuck you, I'm paying," Draco finally shouted over the music.

Potter rolled his eyes and pocketed his money, gesturing for Draco to take the first drink. Once he had, Potter slipped the bottle from his fingers and took a pull. Draco couldn't help watching the way his Adam's apple worked in his stubbled throat. Potter passed it back again, their fingers touching and lingering as Draco took it.

Draco took a cooling sip and turned his gaze back to the dancefloor where he was somewhat surprised to find that Pansy had taken up with Lovegood.

"Do you think…?" Draco asked Potter, unsure if it was the tipsiness creating illusions in front of him.

But Potter's answer was, "Looks like," and in the next moment Pansy jerked Lovegood in and started snogging her mercilessly.

"Yeah, looks like."

Their group began to peel away from the bar in pairs and small groups: Weasley and Granger, of course. Blaise, Millicent, and Longbottom.

Potter took the beer from him again and tipped his head back, finishing it. "Come on," he said, clunking the bottle on the bar and holding out his hand.

Draco raised his eyebrows at him. "I thought you avoided tempos."

Potter leaned in and spoke directly into his ear again. "I like this one."

Draco swallowed thickly, his mouth suddenly dry, and slipped off his seat. Potter took his hand and led him out into the middle of the floor. They squeezed through gyrating couples to find their own space. Potter turned to him, and they began to dance.

It was all very regular, just two blokes out on a dancefloor, moving to a song. Potter did little more than sway, but to Draco's surprise he wasn't half bad at it. Draco, just drunk enough, began to let loose a little more with each passing phrase of the song. He swayed opposite Potter but with a bit more swing to his hips. He let the grinding guitar and solid bass fill him up until it overflowed from his body. And perhaps it was just the intermittent shine of the lights, but Draco thought he saw Potter's eyes flare watching him.

Instinctively, Draco danced a step closer. The bodies closed around them a little more, like the dissolution of wizarding space when the spell began to wear off on its own. Potter licked his lips, and before he knew what he was doing, Draco moved closer still. He was almost right up against Potter, only a couple inches now between them as they moved.

Draco watched Potter swallow, that telling movement of his throat. The alcohol zipped through Draco's veins, and the hard beat spurred him on, giving him courage. His heart beat in his ears.

Draco moved so that his thigh fit between Potter's, their bodies brushing as they danced now, though neither of them moved to touch the other with their hands. Heat flowed off Potter's body like magic, like he was ready for a duel. Their gazes met, and Draco's breath caught in his chest. Their legs bumped. The growing bulge in Draco's jeans rubbed against Potter's thigh. Potter's eyes darkened. Draco dropped his gaze to Potter's lips, swivelling his hips and grinding them together on purpose. He bit his lip.

And that's when Potter wrapped his arm around Draco's back and pulled them flush. They kept moving like that, their bodies pressed together, and Draco felt Potter's answering erection. His eyes rolled shut, and for a moment he thought he might fall, until he opened heavy lids again to observe the hard little jump of Potter's pulse near his throat.

_Fuck it._

Draco wrapped his arms around Potter's neck, undulating against his body as the pounding music obliterated all consequences. It felt like a time out of time. And then Draco remembered that they were _supposed_ to be seen out doing stuff like this. It lent a powerful sense of freedom to his actions, so Draco let himself press so close that his lips shuddered out his breath against Potter's neck. Potter answered by gripping Draco's hips hard.

Draco turned his lips to touch his ear. "Do it," he said, taking one of Potter's hands and shifting it lower and around.

Without a word or any further encouragement, Potter swept his hands down and cupped Draco's arse. Draco inhaled sharply, shocked that he'd done it even though Draco had practically dared him to. Potter squeezed, hard, and Draco groaned against his neck. Potter's hands then strayed up his back, over his shoulder blades, one entangling in Draco's hair. He pulled a little, not enough to hurt, and then Draco found himself looking into Potter's eyes. What he saw there was something equally fierce and calm, and Draco, drunk as he was, just wanted to fall into it.

He wished he could believe it was all real.

Draco lost count of how many songs they danced to like that. All he knew was that the closeness, the hard press of Potter's body against his was like a tonic – a Timer Turner, five more drinks without the hangover – like bathing in magic. The beats changed, but Draco and Potter stayed, the lights playing over their moving bodies, illuminating them only to abandon them to the dark where Potter's hands travelled down Draco's body without hurry, and everywhere he touched, Draco responded.

He'd begun to sweat, the tips of his hair sticking to his forehead. Draco flicked the hair from his eyes and pushed the sleeves of his jumper up without thought, only to realise it bared his Dark Mark. It wasn't something he did flippantly.

It wasn't something he did much at _all_.

But when he went to correct his mistake, Potter's hand on his arm stopped him. Draco searched his gaze. Potter leaned in and said into his ear, "It's something you went through, not something you are."

Draco leaned back to gauge his expression, and as their gazes met again, there'd been a subtle shift. Something soft and real shone in Potter's eyes. Draco found himself reaching up, and though Potter flinched slightly, Draco gently removed his glasses, tucking the tines together and then depositing them in his own back pocket. Potter just stared at him, gaze moving searchingly over Draco's face as Draco wrapped his hand around the back of Potter's neck and leaned in. Potter lowered his gaze and met him halfway, and they kissed, lips parted, tongues tentative with one another, until Potter's fingers tightened down on Draco's hips and he delved deeper inside, and Draco let him.

When they surfaced for air, Draco realised it had probably been too much. If there were reporters, taking notes, taking photographs, they'd had more than a good chance. They'd likely got bored and wandered off. He saw it in Potter's eyes, too… the line they'd stepped over. And yet neither of them made the move to uncross it.

It was the alcohol. Most definitely. Draco's heavy gaze fell to Potter's lips and he bit his own.

A tap came to his shoulder, and Draco startled. It was Granger. She had an inebriated Weasley in tow. "A bunch of us are sharing a Knight Bus so we don't Splinch ourselves," she shouted over the music.

He and Potter had slowed their sway nearly to a stop at her interruption, and now Potter nodded. He checked with Draco, eyebrows raised.

"Now?" Draco asked, though he felt beyond stupid once he'd asked. Of course bloody _now_.

She smirked. "We can wait for you if you need to finish this song," she said. The look she gave Potter then was a million things at once: tender, teasing, but maybe most of all, concerned. Although Draco had to wonder why. There was nothing to be concerned about. They were only putting on a show. No cause for concern.

She strode away with Weasley stumbling along next to her and singing horrendously.

"Come on," Potter said. He took Draco's hand, and with the other he Summoned their coats, abandoned at the bar. They pushed through the crowd, including a still-snogging Pansy and Lovegood.

When they got out on the frigid pavement, Potter helped him into his cloak again before donning his own jacket. Once they'd left the throb of music behind, Potter nudged Granger. "What about Parkinson and Luna?"

She gave a snort of a laugh. "I believe it's their intention to shut the place down. There are rooms at the Leaky, I suppose." She cleared her throat and then made studious work of her Warming charm.

"That's my friend," Draco said. "Infinite slag."

"You're one to talk," Millicent said.

"Sod off, Bulstrode! I'm proper as fuck," Draco protested. Sadly, it was also pretty true. It had been months since he'd pulled anyone. He felt his cheeks flame.

Someone ahead of them—Blaise, he suspected—snorted.

"Who the hell was that?" Draco asked, careening up the pavement a bit. "I'm not in the least slutty! I happen to be extremely choosy, in fact!" Draco had the distinct sensation he was saying too much – and probably too loudly as well, since there was a harsh ringing in his ears in the aftermath of the club's booming bass.

"Well, that's the truth," Blaise answered, a laughing scoff in his voice.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Oh, just, black hair, fit, and glasses much, Draco?"

"I—" Draco cut himself off, swallowing against the impending mortification. He hadn't been aware anyone had been paying that close attention to his dating habits. "I don't—"

But Potter had come alongside Draco again, and now he winked and put his finger to his lips to shush him. In the next moment, Draco felt Potter's questing fingers near his arse but then realised he was merely extracting his glasses from Draco's jeans pocket. Potter shoved them back onto his smirking face and then drew his wand. Draco started, but Potter just shook his head before he aimed and sent a wordless Jelly-Legs Jinx at Blaise's back. Blaise promptly crumpled to the pavement. "Oi! Bloody fuckers!"

Potter snorted laughing as they strode on. Longbottom took mercy and drew his own wand for the counter-jinx, and Draco looked at Potter's mirthful profile. "You're far more twisted than I've ever given you credit for."

Potter turned a smirk on him. "I know."

They reached the Leaky and paraded through to the front, Granger drawing her wand on the pavement and summoning their Knight Bus. Potter and he were the last to board, and maybe it was a good thing all the beds were taken. Draco wasn't sure why the feeling of disappointment lay so heavy in his heart at the sight of it. It was a dangerous feeling, that disappointment. Merlin, he should never have had that last drink. Or the three preceding.

They took a spot near the back, holding onto a questionably sanitary brass pole that Draco decided he did not want to think too much about. The bus rocketed away to its first destination before Draco had set his feet, and he stumbled back into Potter with force.

"Bugger."

But Potter's hand immediately snaked around his middle, holding him close from behind. He didn't let go once Draco had got his feet back underneath him, and Draco's breath went short with renewed arousal.

Not that it meant anything. It meant there could be a reporter on the bus. It meant that Potter was drunk… that Draco was. It meant that Potter's body against his felt good, despite the fact that the reason it was pressed there was completely accidental and/or manufactured.

None of that mattered at the moment when Potter's half-hard cock pressed up against Draco's arse, his hand to Draco's stomach, and his breath stirred the hair at the nape of Draco's neck. Draco succumbed to a delicious shiver.

Really, fuck it all, he thought, blinking slowly at the way the lights stretched into blurry lines out the windows. He lifted his hand and laid it over Potter's, leaning his head back against Potter's neck with a sigh. Potter's breath shuddered against his ear.

It came as a bit of a shock when the bus came to an abrupt stop and the driver called out, "Grimmauld Place!" Draco instinctively moved away. He wasn't prepared for the question he saw in Potter's eyes once he turned. 

"Do you…?" Potter began and then stopped. "I mean," he swallowed, "you could Floo home from here. If you wanted."

"I…" Draco started but was interrupted by the renewed shout of the driver.

"I have a schedule to keep, lads!"

Draco's heart stopped for a moment as he tried to read what might be in Potter's eyes. He realised he was nodding, and in the next moment, Potter took his hand and led him down the aisle between the beds.

"Night, Harry!" Weasley called.

"Have a lovely night, Draco," Blaise said, the tease dripping from his voice.

Millicent gave a whistle.

Draco's cheeks blazed hot, but then the moment they stepped off the bus, it burst down the street in a blur of magic and careened dangerously around the corner, gone.

Potter let go of his hand and led him toward the house, giving a swish to his wand that revealed number twelve's steps.

Inside the front door, Potter cast some wards and a few Warming charms. Draco left his cloak on, uncertain. After all, if what Potter had meant was literally that he could promptly Floo home from here, he'd need to be wearing it still, wouldn't he?

Potter holstered his wand and then stood there looking at Draco for a moment in a very thick silence. He licked his lips. "Okay," he said. "I see three options here."

Draco blinked. "Alright."

"One," Potter said, ticking it off on his finger, "you can Floo home now." He seemed to be trying to gauge Draco's reaction, so Draco gave a little nod, though a frown had settled on his brows. "Two," Potter continued on a new finger, "you can crash here tonight and Floo home tomorrow."

Draco couldn't help but stare at Potter's lips as he spoke, but now that he was silent again, Draco gave him a nod to go on. The potential of 'three', whatever it was, rang like the echo of a Sonorus through the entry.

"Three." Potter stopped, swallowing. He just stood there, staring at Draco with a look on his face that seemed half anxiety and half hope. "Three…" he began again but then shuttered to a stop.

"Three." Draco's voice came out surprisingly definitive.

"What?"

"I choose three." Draco took a step closer, his heart beginning to hammer wildly.

"You…?"

Draco nodded. He knew what three was, even if Potter didn't. He'd known for hours now. He'd felt three banging around inside his skull, whispering in his ear, melding his and Potter's bodies close on that dancefloor.

Three was that kiss that went on for days.

Three was relentless.

Three was fuck it all.

Three was severely and inevitably fuck it all to hell.

Draco took a breath, grabbed Potter by the shirt, and yanked him into a rough, wet kiss.

That was, apparently, the same three Potter was thinking of because he wasted no time ripping Draco's cloak from his shoulders, letting it fall to the floor as he backed Draco down the hall. Draco paused to toe off one boot and then the other, breathing hard against Potter's lips as Potter's hands roamed over his body. Draco pulled him in for another kiss and then breathed, "Bedroom?"

"Too far." Potter pulled Draco's jumper up over his head and it fell to the floor too. "In here." Potter ushered him into the study with the Floo. He drew his wand and thrust it toward the fireplace, and its logs flamed to crackling life. Then Potter tucked his wand away and began work on Draco's jeans.

"Magic without incantations like it's nothing, but you can't open a pair of jeans," Draco said when Potter's fingers slipped. "Salazar, Potter, sit." He nodded to Potter's sofa, and then as Potter, looking dazed as fuck, did as he asked, Draco stripped off his jeans and pants in one go.

Because screw it.

"Fffuck," Potter breathed.

Draco would have taken more pleasure in Potter's obvious appreciation of his nudity, but he was already kneeling, unbuckling Potter's belt. "Take them down," he panted.

Potter hurried to comply, and it might have been funny any other time. Draco shot him a smirk and then wrapped a hand around Potter's cock. _Fuck indeed._ Heavy and warm, it throbbed against Draco's palm, his gripping fingers. Potter's cock, alive with heat and rock-hard in his hand, was so velvety soft that it made Draco catch his breath. He leaned in experimentally to lap his tongue softly under the crown, and Potter's head dropped back. He began to pant as Draco did it again, his fist banging down on the sofa cushion. Potter raised his messy head back up, his glasses now crooked on his face. He took them off in a flash and tossed them carelessly aside.

"Draco… Bloody hell… Dr—"

Draco opened his mouth around the head of Potter's hefty cock and slid halfway down the length of it.

"Oh! _Fuck!_ "

Draco moaned around the cock moving in and out of his mouth. Potter tasted like clean sweat, the slight bitterness of his pre-come, and Draco's eyes fluttered shut as he sucked.

Potter's hand flailed for his head, missed, and then clumsily sank into his hair. "Draco, fuck, wait."

Draco lifted his lips to find Potter looking at him with both lust and panic in his eyes. Draco encircled the base of his cock with his hand hard. "Yeah?"

Potter swallowed, nodding. "Yeah. I think it's… Um, yeah."

Draco felt a little thrill skate over his skin that Potter had already been so close to coming. He crawled up, straddling Potter's lap and kissed him. Potter kissed him back, his hands roving up and down Draco's back.

"Go ahead," Draco breathed against his lips. They kissed again, and this time Potter's hands cupped his arse and massaged him in a slow, intoxicating rhythm that had Draco's cock leaking. He whined into Potter's mouth, tugging his t-shirt up his stomach, breaking the kiss to discard it entirely. He mouthed kisses down Potter's jaw, his neck. He took a nipple between his teeth and then licked. He let go of any stray thoughts that they shouldn't be doing this, that they'd regret it, letting momentum pull him along in its a swift current.

"Lubricant?" he breathed, kissing back up Potter's chest.

"Are you serious?"

"Uh huh." He kissed the shell of Potter's ear.

Potter took him by the shoulders gently and pulled him back to look into his face. "Draco…"

Draco shifted his gaze between Potter's imploring eyes and his parted lips. He bit his own and nodded. He watched Potter gulp, watched the way Potter's gaze roved hungrily over his naked chest, down his stomach, over his twitching cock, and back up. Then Potter drew his wand again. He conjured oil into his own palm and then looked at Draco to decide where it went.

It was, for a split second, heartstoppingly sweet.

Draco took Potter's hand and wrapped it around Potter's own cock, and together they wanked him slowly, getting his prick good and slippery.

Draco dropped his gaze to watch it, their fists meeting, sliding over one another, Potter's blushing cock pushing through their pumping fists, strong and solid and thick. And if he didn't want Potter to fuck him so badly, Draco might have just been content to watch him come from his own touch, it was so bloody hot.

"Scoot this way a little," Draco murmured, and then widened his knees so Potter could move.

"Here?"

"Yeah, that's good." Draco moved so that he could aim it in, steadying Potter's cock at his entrance. He bit his lip, feeling the wide head slip against him.

"You're really… sure?" Potter asked.

"Are you?"

At that, Potter blinked. His strong hands sought Draco's arse, gripping his cheeks, squeezing and gently pulling them apart, exposing him. "Yes," he said. 

Draco's cock leaked a stream of pre-come down his shaft as Potter massaged his arse, oiled fingers dipping in, taking the head of his own cock, and rubbing it gently over the downy clench of his hole. Draco closed his eyes, held Potter's cock still, and felt it push inside a little. " _Ohh_ ," he whined.

Potter grunted as he went in another inch, and Draco pried drunken eyes open to watch his face as he sank down, Potter's cock filling his arse, sliding in hot and thick, until finally he nestled down in his lap with Potter as deep as he'd go.

"Fuck," Draco whispered.

The sound that came out of Potter wasn't even a word at all.

Their gazes met. Draco planted his hands on the sofa behind Potter's head, and he rose up a couple of inches, only to ease back down.

"God, like that," Potter breathed, hands rubbing distractedly up and down Draco's bare back.

Draco did it again, harder. Potter nodded frantically, and so Draco did it like that again, and again.

"Bloody hell," Potter sighed. "Is it…? Does it hurt?"

Draco shook his head. "Feels good."

"Faster?"

Draco nodded his head yes. Potter slipped his hands onto Draco's hips, Draco gripped the sofa cushions, and he started forcing himself down on Potter's cock. His eyes dropped closed, his head falling back on the sheer ecstasy of the friction between them.

Potter's hands tightened, and he made an almost wounded sound through gritted teeth. Draco opened his eyes, looked down at him, and went even faster, bouncing hard in his lap. He was looser now, the way easy, and Potter's cock moving inside him was like fire magic, like a lust potion. The sensation shot up his spine, and Draco's balls drew up tight, his cock slapping against Potter's body. Potter reached between them and grasped it, jerking it as fast as Draco pumped his hips.

"Oh fuck, Potter. Oh hell."

They came one right on top of the other, Potter first, crying out, and then Draco following once he felt the hot slick of Potter's come filling him up. He came on Potter's stomach, hips still driving down in a punishing rhythm.

"Stop," Potter said. "Hold still."

He caught Draco's gaze and held him there, slinging an arm around his hips and planting his other hand on the sofa. He thrust up, and then again, grinding so deep and slow into Draco's body, his still-hard cock working into Draco through the very last of an orgasm that Draco could feel happening inside him. And the whole while, Potter stared into his eyes, making Draco feel as though he were pinned down… as though everything around them melted away to nothing.

Then Potter relaxed, and he laid his head back against the sofa. He gave a short, exhausted laugh. He looked so fucking beautiful, flushed, his throat arched and eyes closed, chest heaving with his breath. His cock slipped out, and Draco couldn't think of a good enough reason to stay there staring at a post-coital Harry Potter, so he lifted up and off and fell onto his back on the sofa, his legs splayed over Potter's lap as they both caught their breath. Potter's hand came to rest on his shin.

"Merlin's four-foot beard, Potter," Draco sighed.

Potter chuckled lowly, and Draco hummed, suddenly so comfortable it was as though he'd downed a sleep tonic. Potter's sofa swallowed him up, soft and warm, and he didn't think he was about to fall asleep. Until, apparently, he did.


	2. The stars, the moon, they have all been blown out

It wasn't the sun that woke him, though Draco instinctively felt that he'd slept long enough that it had likely risen. No, it was a groan from nearby that had Draco cracking one eye open. And then he wanted to groan in reply. His head felt fit to burst. He shifted on his makeshift bed and came to the realisation that he was still on Potter's sofa, though inexplicably covered by a blanket, his throbbing head resting on a soft pillow.

"Bloody hell," came Potter's muffled voice, and Draco pried both eyes open to see him lying prone on the floor between the sofa and the banked fire, his coffee table pushed out of the way. He wasn't precisely on the floor, though. He seemed to be on… a mattress? It had the size and shape of one while still maintaining the pattern of what Draco had to assume was the rug it had formerly been. So, Potter had transfigured himself a bed down there. Had he been there all night? Why hadn't he just slept in his own bed? Why—

Potter shifted, interrupting Draco's thoughts as, with the movement, his blanket shifted too, revealing his very naked arse.

"Fuck," Potter groaned. He moved a little again, the muscles in his arse tensing momentarily, and Draco's formerly dry mouth filled with drool. "Are you awake?" Potter asked.

Draco startled from the intensity of his staring as Potter began to roll over and sit up.

"Yeah," Draco croaked, coming up on an elbow and stifling the wince as his headache worsened.

"Hey," Potter said, rubbing at his eyes, his riot of hair. "I don't know about you, but I could use a hangover potion about now." He looked blearily in Draco's direction.

Draco swallowed thickly. "Yeah. That'd be good."

Potter stood, stretching and yawning. Draco gawped after him as he strode out of the study, his arse shifting with his heavy footfalls. Draco leaned off the sofa to watch him pad up the staircase and nearly fell on the floor in his efforts.

Once Potter and his distracting bum disappeared, Draco sat up on the sofa and tried to get his mental bearings. The only problem being that his mental bearings all brought one glaring thing into sharp focus: He and Potter had fucked last night. Vigorously. Right where Draco was now sitting. They'd done it hard. And fast. And enthusiastically. With each other.

Draco gulped. He heard Potter wandering around in an upstairs room and realised this was his chance to get dressed. He threw the blanket off his body and began scampering around the room for his things. He found his jeans, pants, and socks all haphazardly strewn through the room but had to venture out into the hall for his jumper and shoes. He gathered them all up into his arms and then found a bathroom to lock himself away in, gratefully dropping the lot to practically sprint to the loo where he took the longest piss of his life.

He dressed again, wishing he had new clothes, because these just reminded him of how they'd been removed, and that was a dangerous thing to be thinking about at the very scene of the crime. Draco caught his own eye in the mirror and groaned anew. His hair was a mess, his skin rosy in all the places he could remember Potter groping last night – and some he couldn't. He turned his head, eyeing a particularly bold bite just beneath his jawline. "Merlin's saggy…" The statement devolved into an annoyed growl. His jumper didn't cover it up.

"Draco? Are you… somewhere?"

"Just a moment," Draco shouted with a roll of his eyes. Fuck, his wand was missing. He couldn't fix the bite bruise without his wand, and he couldn't fix it in front of Potter either. He'd just have to live with it, he supposed. He finished dressing, tamed his hair as best he could with just his hands, and then wandered out, gaze on the floor as he looked for and found his wand, discarded like he didn't care if it broke in two so long as he got to shag Potter stupid.

Stupid was right.

Draco swiped it off the ground and then turned to find Potter there, a phial in his hand. Draco ignored the way he knew he was blushing, shoving his wand away and striding over to take the potion, his head pounding with every step. He knocked it back in one go and cleared his throat, handing the empty phial back without meeting Potter's eyes. "Thank you."

To his relief, it provided immediate benefits, and he found himself sighing as the throb in his temples subsided and his stomach calmed.

"Works fast," Potter said.

"Yeah." Draco nodded, gaze still roving aimlessly around Potter's hallway floor. He could at least be thankful, as he noted from the corner of his eye, that Potter had also dressed. "I'm just going to get my cloak and I can—"

"Do you like eggs?"

Draco's gaze snapped up to meet Potter's inquisitive one. "I… What do you mean?"

Potter's lips curved into an amused smile. "I mean, do you like eggs, Draco?"

Draco blinked. "Yes?"

"Good," Potter said. "If you want to stay for breakfast, I've got eggs and toast. I don't know about you, but I'm bloody starving now that my stomach doesn't feel like a manky boot. Plus," he added, "the _Prophet_ will be along shortly." He gave a shrug, hands going into his jeans pockets.

"Eggs… sound good," Draco said, and, in the most confusing way possible, Potter hit him with a blinding smile.

"Great! I only do scrambled, though. I hope that's okay." He'd begun to march down the hall to a set of stairs, so Draco followed him down into a rangy kitchen, already warm from a fire in its large hearth, lit by what must have been the notorious house-elf Draco knew ran the place, though Kreacher was nowhere in sight.

"Scrambled's fine," he said distractedly.

"Have a seat," Potter offered. He rolled up the sleeves of his jumper and then set his kettle on the stove. "I have coffee, too. If you'd rather."

"Tea is fine," Draco said, watching with some degree of startlement as Potter went about fixing him breakfast. Like a Muggle, no less.

He talked about banalities while he cooked – their next exam, the new cold front that was due in that night… scraps of meaninglessness. Draco hummed in response or made single-word replies as the situation warranted, all while watching Potter move about his kitchen, breaking eggs, beating them, getting tea steeping. "Milk? Sugar?"

Draco flashed on the incident in Flourish and Blotts, Potter suggesting pet names for himself as he backed Draco against the shelving. He cleared his throat. "Please."

Potter poured eggs into a hot pan with relish, raising the bowl on high as the last dropped in. He fetched a spatula and began scooting his eggs around. "Merlin, I hope Ron's alive this morning. I think he drank more than the rest of us combined."

It was a sudden reminder of the previous night, and though it seemed a harmless mention, it still had Draco's skin prickling.

"I'm sure Granger's got him sorted," Draco said. "She seems the type of have fifteen cures for every ailment available at all times."

Potter set a mug of tea in front of him. "Doubtless," he said with a smile.

Draco sipped the hot, sweet tea and stifled the contented sigh that wanted to escape his lips.

"Here you are." Potter slid a plate in front of him. He set three kinds of jam and marmalade on the table as well. Draco preferred his dry, but he observed with some amusement that Potter found a way to slather all three choices onto just two pieces of toast. He then tucked into his eggs with a groan.

Draco really wished he wouldn't. Groan, that is. It wasn't altogether similar to how he groaned while Draco slammed his arse down on his cock, but… It wasn't dissimilar enough in the least.

"Your eggs okay?" Potter asked.

"Mm." Draco dabbed at his mouth with his napkin. "Perfect."

And it could have been his imagination – the reflection of light and heat from the fire – but it seemed Potter might have blushed.

"So, what do you think happened with Luna and Pansy after we left?" Potter asked.

"Merlin, how should I know?" Draco did a bang up job of not meeting Potter's gaze.

"Isn't she your best mate?"

"I suppose. That doesn't mean I've ever known her to be in the least predictable. Same with Lovegood, I'd guess."

He glanced up to see Potter grin. "Right. They could have Portkeyed to Greenland for all we know."

"Exactly."

Not that Draco particularly cared where his friend and Lovegood had got off to last night. He was still too preoccupied to where _he_ had. And in that moment, through no mental mechanism that made sense to him, Draco remembered how he got the glaring mark on his neck. It had been in the hall, after Potter had divested him of his jumper, his lips opening hungrily just beneath Draco's jaw, tongue hot and teeth all too ready to sink down—

"I'll check in with Luna later," Potter said. "Just make sure she got home okay."

Draco realised he'd been rubbing at the bruise unconsciously and left off. In the next moment, Potter's words sank in. "Are you insinuating she wouldn't have been safe with Pansy?"

"I— No." Potter frowned. "I'd check up on her if she'd been out that late with anyone." He shrugged.

Draco felt his ire soften into bemusement. "Gryffindor," he scoffed and then took another bite of his eggs.

Potter smirked at him, following a bite of toast with some tea. The eye contact lasted just a moment too long, and Draco felt like it must be all over his own face: _I let you fuck me last night._ And the moment he thought it, he thought he glimpsed it in Potter's eyes as well: _I've been inside you._

Draco could still feel him, his arse sore and a little raw and…

Draco broke the gaze and downed his tea instead. He should never have stayed for breakfast. What had he been thinking? Or hadn't he been?

Just then, Draco's self-flagellating musings were disturbed by the wholly shocking voice of Ron Weasley shouting from up the stairs. "Harry?"

Draco felt his stomach drop into his boots, wide eyes meeting Potter's.

"Hey!" Potter shouted back. "Coming!" Then to Draco, "I'll be right back. Don't leave?"

Draco just blinked at him.

At what must have been an alarmed look on Draco's face, Potter elaborated, "I'll tell him you crashed here."

Draco nodded vaguely again, and then Potter was taking the stairs two at a time.

"Is everything okay?" he heard Potter ask from the vicinity of the study. Merlin's saggy tits, Weasley must have Floo'd in. He'd see the mattress. There'd be questions.

Draco stood, careful not to make any noise, and crept over to the staircase to listen better.

"Did… Malfoy…?"

"He slept here."

"On the floor?"

"No, I slept on the floor. He slept on the sofa. What's going on, Ron? Why did you—?"

"Harry…" The worried tone was more than evident, and Draco found himself sneaking partway up the stairs.

"What?" Potter clipped. And then after a short silence, again, "Ron, what?"

"Nothing," Weasley said, in the tone of a person who meant the opposite. Draco held his breath. "It's just… I get that he's not as much of a complete wanker anymore, but…"

"He's not a wanker at all," Potter said stiffly, and Draco's stomach left his shoes for his throat. He slowly made his way up one more step.

"So… that's prime dating ground for you now? 'Not a wanker'?"

There was a weird, full silence before Weasley gasped and started, "He's still h—?"

Draco felt magic disrupt the air in the next moment and then there was the distinct and unnatural silence of being on the wrong end of a privacy charm.

He let his breath out and walked back down the stairs, sinking into his seat at the table once more. He tipped his tea cup to see that only the cold dregs were left. He sighed.

Why would Weasley use that term? Dating. Potter had said he'd told Weasley and Granger the truth. So why would he call it that? There could have been a pair of air quotes around it, certainly, but even still. It wasn't as though Potter went around fake dating all kinds of nice blokes and Draco was the one wankery exception.

And if Weasley had somehow – rightly – sussed out that they'd slept together last night, that still didn't give rise to the use of that word. It was one time. It was sex. Even considering the fact that it was bloody brilliant, that didn't automatically mean it was time to toss around a word like dating, for Merlin's sake. There was no guarantee it would ever happen again, for one. They were drunk off their arses. Plus, even if it happened again – and no, Draco's pulse did not pound harder at that thought – it was only sex. It very much was not _dating_.

It was all very not that. Even an imbecile like Weasley should have been able to figure that much out. In fact, Draco had just lost whatever paltry amount of respect he might have gained for the idiot over the past two years of training together.

Draco had actually scoffed aloud, he realised, when Potter suddenly appeared back in the kitchen.

Draco coughed the sound away and asked, "Is he…?"

"Yeah, he's gone back home." Potter poured more tea for first Draco and then himself.

"What did he want?"

"Oh, just…" Potter dug two bottles of hangover potion from his pocket and held them up. "You were right about Hermione. Apparently they've got plenty and wanted to share." He set the phials down on the countertop and scratched the back of his neck. "Guess he thought I might have drunk too much last night."

"I hope Weasley's not counting on making Head Auror ever," Draco said, "with keen observations like that."

Potter huffed a laugh. "Right?" He turned, leaning his arse against the counter and sipping his tea. The awkwardness that Weasley had brought with him melted away again a bit as Potter's eyes sparkled at him over the rim of his cup. Yet even that was broken with the screech of a talon on glass. Draco jumped.

"That'd be the _Prophet_ ," Potter said, shaking his head. "I've tried treating that bird to get him to tap rather than scratch the glass, but… Well, I guess it's having the opposite effect."

Potter opened the window, letting in a gust of chilly morning air and then shutting it fast again. He brought the paper over and deposited it on the table. "Go ahead," he said, fetching his tea from the counter before taking his seat.

Draco unfurled the paper and tried not to look like he was devouring it for their blurb.

"Here," Potter said, "I'll take half." Then he winked at Draco, dismantling even the idea of his pretense.

Draco blushed and rolled his eyes, handing over half the paper to Potter.

They spent a good five minutes on it, and Draco checked twice, but… "Nothing," he said, flabbergasted.

Potter didn't look altogether vexed. He shrugged.

"How could there be no blurb? No pictures?" Draco asked. "After all that? Merlin, was it all for _nothing?_ " He turned an incredulous look on Potter.

Potter cleared his throat. "Right, I don't know." He stood, beginning to clean up their plates.

"Here, I can—" Draco tried to take his mug to the sink, but Potter stopped him rather forcefully.

"I've got it." He met Draco's gaze, eyes hard and dark, his jaw tight. In the next breath, he turned and took their things to the sink, and this time he didn't bother with anything Muggle, drawing his wand and getting some suds going. "You can tell your mother to check _Witch Weekly_ ," he said. "I'm sure there will be something there for her."

"Right," Draco said, frowning at Potter's rigid back. "I'll do that."

"Good. Look, I've got quite a lot to do today."

"Oh." Draco felt himself standing, but it was as though his body wasn't his own. "I guess I should be going."

Potter turned and gave him a smile, everything about it genuine except for a tightness at the very corners. "You can see yourself out, right?"

Draco blinked. "Right."

"Don't forget your cloak."

"No," Draco said, feeling as though he was in a daze. "I won't." He cleared his throat. "Thank you."

"See you Monday," Potter threw over his shoulder.

"Yeah. I'll see you then."

Draco trudged up the stairs. He found his cloak on the entryway floor and swiped it up, tucking it over his arm like a sheet of lead. He made his way back to the study only to find that Potter had set everything to rights: The rug was, again, a rug, the coffee table in its place. The blanket and pillow he'd given Draco at some point while Draco slept were nowhere to be seen.

Draco took some Floo powder from the flowered urn on the mantel and turned toward the grate. He hesitated. Because it felt like he was leaving behind something important, something he'd miss when he came to realise it was gone.

He took a deep breath, threw the powder down, and stepped into the flames.

~~~

He didn't hear from Potter over the weekend. Not that he'd expected to. They hadn't had a date set up or anything. But the strange thing was that he barely saw him Monday either. They'd come to the point in their training that they'd begun selecting specialties, so there were times when their morning classes differed, such as today. Potter took more defensive technique classes than Draco did, and Draco's focus was curse-breaking. But the odd thing was not seeing him at lunch.

And not only Monday but Tuesday as well.

If he hadn't seen Potter in Monday's afternoon classes, in fact, he'd have assumed he was out ill. As it was, he'd just seemed focused and a bit withdrawn, keeping his attention on his work in class and then exiting quickly and without a glance Draco's way.

But the fact that he'd missed lunch two days in a row was most boggling, and Draco tried not to look like he was neurotically obsessed with checking the cafeteria doors every three seconds… while still checking the cafeteria doors every three seconds.

He was doing just that when a tray clattered down on the table behind him.

Draco's shoulders came up defensively, and he turned with a scowl. "Bloody hell, Weasley."

"All right, Malfoy. Let's go."

Weasley stood there, hands on hips, waiting for him to… what?

"Are you challenging me to a duel?"

Weasley rolled his eyes. "Just get up. I need to talk to you, and not here."

Draco frowned at him. "I've hardly finished." But he stood nonetheless. Because a) it was disgusting and he'd been forcing it down anyway, and b) it could be that Weasley wanted to talk about Potter's whereabouts, and that was a subject he'd be interested to engage in. So Draco straightened his tunic and followed Weasley out into the hall.

He waited for a pair of Unspeakable trainees to walk by before he started in. "Look, I don't know what you've done, but you need to go talk to him."

"Why? Where the hell is he anyway? It's not me that's not talking to him, you know." Belatedly, Draco thought maybe he should have played ignorant as to who _he_ was, but that would have been a rather silly waste of time, being that Weasley obviously expected him to know. And he obviously _did_ know.

Weasley's face went hard in a way Draco hadn't really seen since their Hogwarts days. His voice fell to a low murmur which nonetheless promised a threat of violence. But it was the words themselves that came as a shock. "You hurt his feelings."

Draco flinched back, frowning. "I think you're mistaken."

"I'm not."

"But… How is that even possible? Whatever it is you think I've done, Potter's got armour against my brand of wankery that I couldn't possibly—"

Weasley laughed and there was nothing humorous in it, more homicidal. "You're a right idiot," he said. "Malfoy, you _hurt_ him." He looked hard into Draco's eyes for a moment and then dropped his gaze to drill holes with it into the floor between their feet rather than hex him it seemed. "And even if you don't give a shit about him, even if all you care about is maintaining your little charade for Mummy…" He looked back up at Draco again. "Bloody fix it, will you?" Then he added, "Before Duelling if you have any self-preservation instinct. You're set to go against each other today." Weasley then gave him a look that communicated very sufficiently that he did not envy Draco in the slightest.

He started off down the hall.

"Wait!" Draco called, his heart in his throat.

"What?" Weasley sighed, turning.

"Where is he?"

"In Mysteries," Weasley said. "With Hermione." Then he turned once again and stalked off, leaving Draco there to gape at no one.

~

It wasn't that Draco actually _was_ that stupid. Upon reflection, it didn't take long for him to realise it was what he'd said, about doing all that they had for nothing. It was only that he'd never have thought such a statement would offend Potter. It obviously wasn't for _nothing_ if the blinding orgasms meant anything at all – and how could a blinding orgasm mean nothing? He hadn't meant to insinuate that he'd got nothing out of the evening. It seemed pretty obvious he had. It would be preposterous to believe otherwise, despite whatever bollocks had actually come out of his mouth after the fact.

It seemed murky, though, just what, beyond a mind-blowing orgasm, they were to take from what had happened. Draco knew he was foggy on the issue but had figured it was not exactly a subject he wanted the responsibility of bringing up. Better to assume he'd been a decent enough drunken lay and that was the end of it.

But that hadn't been what he'd said. He'd insinuated that it was nothing. So yes, of course, if the tables were turned, he wouldn't relish believing that had all been nothing to Potter. He just didn't think Potter was idiot enough to think Draco meant nothing when he said nothing. Or something.

It was really neither here nor there because the fact of the matter was Draco _hadn't_ been able to find Potter before Defence, and now Robards was bringing the class to order, and there was no time to tell Potter that nothing wasn't nothing or to find out exactly what kind of something Potter had expected it to be in the first place.

Although, since speaking with Weasley, now Draco couldn't stop wondering. Well, all right, he'd been playing that night in his mind pretty much on repeat since it happened (and wanking), but it wasn't until Weasley forced the issue that Draco began to wonder if his own assumption – namely that it was a one night stand and something Potter wouldn't necessarily agree to repeat – was somewhat skewed.

 _Would_ Potter want to do it again? Could that be something they just… did? Completely separate from the whole fake dating thing? Just on the side? Like… a hobby?

Draco hadn't considered that a possibility. He'd only considered that, though it had been good – wonderful, brilliant, stupidly hot – that it had also been a drunken mess not to be repeated or even contemplated aloud in one another's presence in any way, shape, or form.

But maybe he was wrong about that.

Maybe he was—"Fuck!" Draco grabbed his arm and doubled over.

"Little late getting to your wand, Mr Malfoy," Auror Robards chided.

Draco drew it quickly and stood, only to find Potter facing him, his own wand at the ready, having been the one to send the Stinger Draco's way. Draco searched his face for a glimmer of one-upmanship but found only a chilly focus.

The room around them was erupting in spells met with spells while Robards, Protego'd to the hilt, wandered around the room to critique everyone.

Draco raised his wand, but before he could get anything off, Potter flicked another Stinger at him. This time, Draco deflected it. An altogether unreasonable annoyance stiffened his jaw. He went for an _Expelliarmus_ , but Potter dodged, countering with a stronger Stinging charm that caught Draco's leg this time.

It wasn't so much that Potter had struck him – twice. It was more the dispassionate way he'd done it that had Draco now simmering with frustration. He gritted his teeth and fired off three jinxes in a row, meeting the defensive magic of Potter's wand over and over again, while his fourth grazed his shoulder, making Potter hiss.

Draco's eyes flared.

A little of that calm concentration Potter had been exhibiting fell away, replaced with heat, and Draco tallied a victory for himself at the sight.

Potter whipped his wand up and sent ropes of _Incarcerous_ magic slithering through the air at him like angry snakes. Draco incinerated most with a _Confringo_ and dodged the last.

Then they were at it, spells zinging through the air, fizzling when met with defence or shedding sparks when spell met spell. Draco held his own for as long as he could and managed several direct hits, though nothing incapacitating. In fact, he could feel himself pulling his strikes. Which only served to anger him more, but instead of spurring him to hit Potter harder, it only made his own magic more erratic and unfocused. If he was to win, he'd have to devise a different way because Potter would always manage to best him in a straight fight.

Case in point, Potter was in the midst of a full-on assault, bearing down on Draco and backing him across the room, putting him completely on the defensive with spell after spell. It was rather like Flourish and Blotts and the endearments – but, you know, dangerous. And infuriating.

Draco cast as strong a _Protego_ as he could do quickly, just to give himself the moment he needed, and then—

He Apparated just behind Potter, hitting him right when he swung around, three hard Stunners and then, because he was a dick, an _Aguamenti_ , soaking Potter to the skin in moments. It gave him the edge he needed. " _Expelliarmus!_ " he shouted, charging and pinning a very wet Potter to the wall, Draco's wand at his throat.

Potter sputtered and shook his hair from his eyes, breathing angrily in Draco's face.

What happened next… Well, it wasn't a part of his plan. It just… happened.

Draco leaned forward and pressed his lips to Potter's hard. When he came away, Potter blinked at him, looking as stunned as Draco felt.

"Mr Malfoy…" Robards warned. "That's not exactly a Ministry-approved attack."

But Draco just shot Potter an eyebrow. "Worked, didn't it?" he muttered under his breath.

Potter cocked his head. "Did it?" And then before Draco knew what was what, Potter executed a series of hand-to-hand combat moves to which Draco was not privy, and Draco found himself face down on the floor, his wand arm tugged up behind him and Potter's bony-arse knee in his lower back.

He would have sworn, but it came out a breathless " _Oof!_ " instead, his wand clattering to the floor.

"Mr Potter, Mr Malfoy, that's enough," Robards called.

"Like I'm even doing anything," Draco scoffed and then felt his arm wrenched just a little further behind his back. "Ahh, Potter, _fuck_!"

Potter relented, letting him go, and Draco circled his wrist, turning over onto his back and rubbing his shoulder. Potter stood over him. But gone was the cold expression, replaced now with soft amusement.

"Proud of yourself, are you?" Draco asked while Potter, still wet, dripped on him.

"I never would have done it if you hadn't done what you did first, Malfoy." Potter smirked at him. Then he stuck out his hand to help Draco up off the floor.

Draco hesitated only momentarily and then took it. Potter's hand was warm and strong, and he pulled Draco gently to his feet.

"You're such a prick," Potter said, appearing to fight a smile.

"All I did was kiss you."

Potter held his arms out and looked down at his dripping self briefly.

Draco shrugged. "It was hardly an Unforgivable. And if you're waiting for me to dry you off, you're going to be there a while."

"If I wanted to be dry, I could do it myself."

"Oh you _want_ to be soaking wet. Did you a favour, did I?"

Potter snorted, Summoning his wand back into his hand and tucking it away. "I just don't see the point in drying off when I'm going in the shower soon."

Draco took a deep breath at that, the unsought-after mental images of Potter's naked wet arse piling up in his mind's eye and obliterating most everything else momentarily. "There is that," he managed. "I'm relieved you don't seem to expect me to apologise. Since I'd refuse."

"Oh no, I'd never expect that from you, Malfoy," Potter said. "It was nothing."

His expression hadn't changed, but the air suddenly felt charged around them, and not from spells as class was already starting to let out. Draco swallowed.

"Later," Potter said and then squished from the room, giving his hair another Crup-like shake on his way out.

Draco gathered his things and made his own pensive way to the locker room. What had all that meant? The entire exchange, from Potter's first Stinger to the last shake of his wet head, had seemed loaded with meanings Draco felt inadequate to translating.

He was playing the whole class over in his head as he undressed and entered a shower, turning the water on just almost too hot to bear and stepping under the deluge. He groaned, dropping his chin to his chest and letting the spray beat on the back of his neck. He was going to be sore from Potter's trouncing, that much Draco knew quite well.

He was just beginning to relax when there was a muffled crack, and Draco startled as Potter Apparated into the shower with him, already naked and wet from his own.

"Bloody—!"

" _Muffliato_ ," Potter cast.

And Merlin, nude with a wand was a _fucking_ good look on him. Draco's cock began, inexorably, to swell. "Did you bloody well just Apparate in here?"

Although that had been obvious.

Potter backed him against the wall. "Yeah."

"What if you'd missed?" Draco sputtered. " _Did_ you miss?"

Potter rolled his eyes. He wrapped his hand at the nape of Draco's neck and hauled him in for a kiss only interrupted by the cascade of hot water over them. He tongued into Draco's willing mouth, and Draco melted up against him, wrapping his arms around Potter's glorious nakedness, his hot, wet skin pressing to Draco's as their erections nudged and slid together.

"Fuck," Draco murmured before Potter kissed away whatever other words might have come. Potter squeezed his arse, pressing them even more firmly together as he rolled his hips. He made a muffled groan into Draco's mouth.

It occurred to Draco that a) they were having sex in the Ministry showers with their cohorts only feet away, and b) much more importantly, Draco now had access to Potter's arse in ways he formerly had not when he'd been sitting on it on his sofa. He stroked down Potter's back and ran his hands over the tensing flesh, so full and smooth and warm. He grabbed on hard, and Potter sank his teeth tenderly into Draco's bottom lip.

They thrust against one another in the warm steam, and Draco fit his lips to the straining tendon in Potter's neck, sucking as they rocked together. Their movements became jerkier, more goal-oriented. Draco had thought perhaps to sneak a hand between them or drop to his knees and suck Potter off – but it felt too good like this, warm and wrapped in Potter's arms, his own holding Potter close as they moved together toward completion. Maybe Potter felt the same. His arms tightened suddenly, and he began to tremble.

"I'm coming," he murmured.

Draco sank his fingers into the perfect flesh of Potter's arse as his hips juddered and he began to shoot warm spunk between their bodies.

"Come on," Draco coaxed, lips on his neck. "Come on, Potter."

"Nngggh," Potter whined. Then he yanked on Draco's hair, pulling him into a fierce kiss, just as much teeth as tongue and lips, and it tipped Draco over the edge. He came groaning luridly into Potter's harsh mouth, feeling his cock slide through the mess they'd made against Potter's stomach.

They kissed through the last of it, mouths turning tender, tongues slow.

"Merlin, I should best you at duelling more often," Draco breathed against his lips.

Potter's hand came down in a hard, wet smack against Draco's arse, and he had to stifle a yelp. Draco leaned back slightly to peer into Potter's eyes, now some perplexing mix of cloudy and sated.

"Hand me your soap," he said. Then, when Draco did and Potter read the label, "Typical," with a roll of his eyes.

"If you're going to take the piss about it, you can go back to your own bloody shower and use… what, lye?"

Potter smirked at him but then applied a generous amount of Draco's five Galleon a bottle Parisian body potion to his armpits. Draco washed next to him, and together they passed the soap and shampoo between them, taking turns rinsing off under the spray. It had turned utilitarian, no trace of the same physical intimacy of holding each other close while they climaxed and kissed, but it still sent frissons of excitement through Draco's body every time he caught Potter's eyes on him – which was frequently – every time Draco's gaze slipped down Potter's skin and he thrilled at the fact that his fingers now knew what it felt like.

Potter dipped himself under the spray one last time and then pushed the water back off his head.

"You didn't bring a towel. Are you going to try to share mine, Potter?" It wasn't the question Draco really wanted to know the answer to. It was simply his indirect way of asking if Potter was going to walk out of the shower with him in front of everyone.

Potter wasn't going to be an outstanding Auror for nothing (not that Draco would _ever_ say such a revolting thing aloud) because he just picked up his wand and said, "It's nothing, right? They don't need to know."

He undercut the slight sting of the words with a fleeting kiss to Draco's cheek. Then he gave a wink and Disapparated, leaving Draco to dry himself alone amidst a whole new tumble of unanswered questions.

~~~

And thus began the very strange circumstance of their fake dating in public and real fucking in absolute secret. It was, with no comparison, the weirdest relationship Draco had ever been in – which was to say, it wasn't one.

The question of whether or not it would happen a third and indeed multiple times after the shower was answered the next day when Potter gave him a certain look after a particularly boring lecture in Magical Law. They'd walked out together, saying nothing, until they'd come to a deserted hallway, and then Potter jerked Draco into a closet and warded the door. Which he'd then proceeded to fuck Draco against. With ward-rattling vigor.

When he'd finished and pulled out, Draco had hardly drawn breath to complain he hadn't yet come himself when Potter spun him around, pressed his back to the door, and dropped to his knees. And then the only thing Draco had to complain about was that it had only taken moments of Potter sucking his cock for him to come hard inside his warm mouth, gripping Potter's hair in a tight fist and crying out so loudly he thought he might bust through the privacy charms and alert the entire Auror department to the fact that Harry Potter was rather brilliant with a blow job.

Potter had leaned back, wiped his mouth on his sleeve, and stood, righting his clothes, and they'd exited – a minute apart from one another – with only a smattering of words exchanged.

They'd met up for lunch in the cafeteria and Potter had sat with him as was their usual and then kissed Draco perfunctorily on the cheek when he'd left. And somehow Draco managed to feel like that fleeting moment was more clandestine than Potter fucking him managed to be.

Until the next time they had sex, and then that felt pretty clandestine, too. It was, once again, on Ministry property, which was mental all on its own. They'd chosen an empty classroom for rushed hand jobs in the dark, their trousers still mostly on.

They'd finished and Potter was zipping up when he said, "One hundred one, east Woodsdale Drive, right?"

"Er, yeah."

"I'll leave my Floo open for you."

"Oh." Draco blinked. "Right, thanks."

"Just chime me first to make sure I'm in and alone."

"Of course. Same to you," Draco said before he thought.

Potter gave a nod and leaned in, and Draco thought he was going to kiss him for a moment, but instead, Potter just wrapped his hand around the doorknob, pulled the door open, and left with a, "See you, Malfoy."

They had a public date the next day, just to be seen out shopping again, so once more they chose Diagon Alley. Photos were taken as they entered and exited Quality Quidditch Supply where Potter bought broom cleaner even though Draco had caught him reverently ogling the new Firebolt Infinity. Then they made the short walk, reporters in tow, to Flourish and Blotts.

"I forgot to ask you," Draco said as they made their way slowly down the same aisle. "Did Hagrid like his book?"

Potter turned toward him, a look of slight surprise lifting his brows. "Yeah. I think he did."

"And did you have to suffer the rock cakes while you were visiting?" Draco ran his finger down the spine of the newest thriller by Aurora Sinistra, who had taken to authoring far-fetched novels about space-travelling witches once she left her teaching post at Hogwarts.

"When he wasn't looking, I fed them to Fang." Potter shot him a grin.

Draco snorted a laugh, and the eye contact went on just a second too long before Potter seemed to school the smile from his face and moved on down the aisle.

"I think Dean's got a piece in a book over in Art and Photography, so I'm going to…" Potter jerked his thumb in that direction. "Meet at the front in twenty?"

"Sure," he said, and when Potter had gone, Draco pulled down Sinistra's new book and tucked it under his arm. It wasn't so much a guilty pleasure as… Well, all right, that's exactly what it was.

He surveyed the newest nonfiction on Spells and Curse-Breaking and then found himself looking over the accessories conveniently placed on the way to the checkout. He stopped at a really beautiful set of quills in a glass case. There were five of varying sizes, with molted quill feathers of raven, American redtail hawk, goose, snowy owl, and phoenix. Draco admired the precision of the nibs in silver, pewter, and gold. He had a bit of a thing for nice quills and had got into trouble playing with the set in his father's office as a small child more than once. He'd then blamed it on one of the house-elves but that was neither here nor there. This set was rather decadent, and he hadn't brought enough gold with him to make such a purchase, but he made a mental note to come back.

A throat cleared behind him, and Draco turned to see Potter waiting. "What's that under your arm?"

Blast. Draco had meant to buy it when Potter wasn't looking and then hide it in a bag. And then miniaturize that bag and hide _it_ in his pocket. "Oh, it's just…" Draco waved the book around so that it'd be as easy to read as writing on a twitchy Snitch and then tucked it back under his arm.

"Is that Professor Sinistra's new book? Merlin, I loved her last one!"

"You did?"

Potter launched into a full-on review of her previous novel as Draco made his purchase. "My favourite bit was when Alicia makes it to Dextron Three only to—"

"Shut it, I haven't finished yet!" Draco glared at him, receiving his change. And then promptly blushed at the ferocity with which he obviously cared.

"Oh. Sorry." Potter looked equal parts chagrined and… Well, 'happy' would be the word Draco would have used. Potter looked happy, his eyes bright and a ready smile on his face.

Draco rolled his eyes. "I'll likely finish by the holiday. You can tell me then."

Potter's lips lifted still further, and Draco wondered what he'd said that had made that happen. Potter must really love the Alicia Bennet series if he was that keen to talk about it with Draco of all people. Maybe none of his friends shared his interest, though it seemed a properly Gryffindorish choice, full of witches and wizards jumping into every single peril within a hundred thousand lightyears at the drop of a wand.

They stood for their obligatory photos outside the shop and then made their way to a nearby Apparition point circuitously as to thwart the press and not be followed.

"Would you like to…?" Draco found himself asking before they took their leave but then belatedly stopped himself. They'd never done _that_ just after something like _this_. That is, they tended not to mix the two – fake dating and real shagging. Draco realised his face had begun to flame as Potter looked at him. "Never mind, all right, I just—"

"No, it's only that… Well, I'm meeting Ron and Hermione."

"Oh. Yeah, all right."

Potter looked like he was going to say something and then stopped.

"What?" Draco pressed.

Potter firmed his lips and then said, "I don't suppose you'd maybe want to… come along?"

Draco startled. "What?" He laughed. "Merlin, no." He was likely the very last person Granger and Weasley would want showing up with their best mate and ruining their plans. He still more than vaguely remembered Weasley wanting to kill him in that hallway recently. Plus, they'd got their photoshoot in for the day. Surely Potter would want to shirk all that for a bit for time with his friends. "I mean, it's not as though that's necessary, right? For this whole… thing."

"Right. No, of course not." Potter gave him the sort of shuttered smile Draco was becoming all too used to from him. "I'll see you at training then."

"Yeah," Draco said, a strange disappointment settling beneath his ribs. And before he knew it , he was talking again, words he hadn't considered ahead of time. "There's also my Floo," he blurted. "You know… if you wanted," he cleared his throat, "later. Or sometime. Like we talked about," he added, as though Potter needed reminding that this was not just Draco gagging for a fuck but something Potter himself had been instrumental in formulating.

A glint came back to Potter's eye, just a little bit. "Yeah," he said. "Sometime." Then in the next moment, he Disapparated.

~

Draco dabbed his mouth with a napkin distractedly, pushing his dinner plate away on the table as he reread the day's Owl from his mother. It was the usual by now: "So glad to see you made the Society section. Potter's looking sharp in that shirt but perhaps he could wear robes more often (as you might as well)." But this time she'd added a couple of new lines:

_It's wonderful to see you so happy, Draco._

To which he'd nearly choked on his tikka masala. He was now rereading it for the third time, just as perplexed as the first. He made a note to check their latest photo in the _Prophet_ to ascertain if they'd caught him out with a particularly Obliviated look on his face.

The last line hadn't been all that surprising really and was just a reminder that she and Father had been invited by the Zabinis to holiday in the Italian Alps and that though he was welcome to come along, _surely_ his presence noted by the papers there in England during Christmas would be preferable to everyone involved.

"Subtle, Mum," Draco murmured, shooing Joan from his dirty dish and then folding the missive and deciding to reply in the morning rather than summon the will at 9pm when frankly all he wanted was the Harpies/Wasps match on the Wireless and a cold pint.

Joan gave up on his measly leftovers and flew out the open back window to hunt instead, while Draco stood, pulling his wand, and sending his dinner things Leviosaing towards the sink. He was in the middle of the charm when his Floo flared to life, and Potter burst in, coming to a skidding stop on his living room rug.

"Shit," Potter said. "I forgot to chime."

Draco, had he had his head about him, would have taken the piss about it, but he was too busy trying to force his palpitating heart out of his ears. "No," he managed. "I'd just finished dinner and…"

Potter strode over to where he stood, taking Draco's face between his palms, his lips making contact and then, when Draco exhaled, stealing inside with his tongue.

The dishes promptly crashed to the kitchen floor.

"Sorry," Potter muttered against his mouth.

"Fuck it," Draco replied, flinging his wand away and shoving his hands up Potter's shirt, stroking over his warm chest and then around his muscular back.

Potter began work on Draco's trousers, and every tug of his hands stiffened Draco's cock a little more. He moaned into Potter's mouth.

"Merlin, I want you right here," Potter growled.

Draco couldn't begin to guess what had sent him here in such a fever, but there was a phrase about gift horses' mouths.

"Yes," he breathed.

Potter spun him away and yanked his trousers down. Draco pushed his pants down in their wake even while Potter leveraged him face-down over his own dining table, one hand pressing in the middle of his back and then other fumbling with his own flies.

Draco gripped the edges of the table, suddenly panting. Potter cast, slicking the crack of his arse and then—

"Oh God." Draco held his breath as Potter thrust inside, only in the next moment to have all the air rushing from his lungs when Potter didn't hesitate and just started fucking him.

Potter grasped Draco's hips in his hands. The table creaked under his jostled body, the side of his face pressed hard to its surface.

Potter's thick cock stretched Draco open time and again, and they stumbled against one another as the table scooted forward an inch. Potter started pulling Draco's arse back onto his cock so that they bounced together. Draco's eyes rolled shut, and he gripped the table until his knuckles went white. If he could just touch his own cock he'd be coming. It was a horrible, exquisite sensation to be taken so close by Potter's cock in his arse alone.

Potter went harder. Draco could feel miniscule seismic tremors racking Potter's body. "Going to… come in you…"

"Fuck you, Potter," Draco gritted out. He didn't know where it came from. He felt so rough with it all, so driven beyond where he'd ever wanted to go and yet helpless against his own deep desire to be driven there. "Fucking do it."

Potter groaned through gritted teeth and spilled inside him, shoving his cock in hard yet slowing. He pulled back on Draco's hips in time, and Draco was able finally to drop a hand between his legs and tug on his own prick.

"Like that," Draco encouraged as Potter slammed home in him, emptying on a whining groan.

"Yeah?" Potter managed.

Draco couldn't answer. His orgasm built and he couldn't even breathe for a moment, his hand a blur between his legs and Potter's continued thrusting making him see stars. He came on a choked cry, coaxing it from the head of his cock with his thumb, his arse clenching down so that Potter groaned behind him, pushing deep inside and holding there until Draco was through.

Potter pulled out, leaving Draco a complete wreck on the table. His hands shook as they reached for his pants, inching them up over his arse and hissing at the brush of cotton on his sensitive prick. Draco stood and righted his trousers as well, turning to see Potter finishing up what Draco trusted was a Scourgify before tucking his wand away.

"I didn't hurt you… did I?"

Draco shook his head. "No. I liked it." They stood there, gazes skittering to and away from one another before Draco spoke again. "I was going to turn the match on." He jerked his head toward the Wireless in the living room. His hands were still shaking a little from how hard he'd had to hold onto the edges of the table. 

Potter swallowed and stared into the space between them.

"You could…" Draco began. "I have beer."

Potter blinked and then met his gaze; an interminable battle seemed to be going on behind his glasses. "I don't think that'd be a good idea."

"Oh." Draco felt the oddest lump form in his chest. It pushed a prickle into his eyes. "No, right." He looked off to the side, sticking his hands into his back pockets for something to do with them. It was so stupid. It was only Quidditch. Hell, he'd meant to listen to it alone anyway.

Potter shuffled back over to the Floo, and Draco watched his tense back. He turned with a handful of Floo powder. "Enjoy the match," Potter said. Even just from his profile, Draco could see the conflicted frown sharpening his features.

"Goodnight, Potter."

"Goodnight, Malfoy."

Potter stepped past the grate and swirled away in a flash of Slytherin green.

Draco stood staring at the empty hearth for a few minutes. He ran his hands through his hair and turned, his stomach knotted up, striding into his kitchen where he expected the mess of his shattered plate and water glass, only to find it all repaired and clean and stacked on his kitchen counter like an apology.

Draco stood there staring at it – at the silent perfection of it – and he wondered if that had been the reason Potter had drawn his wand… if he'd repaired Draco's dishes only to go home with his body still tainted with what they'd done.

…if he'd bear the scent of Draco's sweat into his own bed.

~~~

They found a rhythm – between work, their "dates", and Flooing to one another's for sex. Draco got over Potter not staying for the Quidditch. It'd been his ex-girlfriend playing anyway; it occurred to Draco that perhaps that was why Potter'd elected not to stick around. Perhaps he still found Ginny Weasley an awkward subject for his attention, maybe made worse in front of Draco.

It didn't really matter. They set that evening aside and simply moved forward, and if sometimes Potter's smile was tight and closed, well, that's just how it was, wasn't it? They still fucked like mad people – and it was the most glorious physical thing Draco had ever felt. He suspected maybe Potter felt the same, if his responses to Draco's touch, Draco's body, being inside him, were any reliable indication.

They were good at it.

They were so very, very good at it.

Wednesday nights in particular had become a part of their rhythm. Draco began setting them aside, not making plans. Not that Wednesdays were big nights for him to begin with. His social life consisted of an obligatory dinner and one brunch at his parents' twice a month, random get-togethers with his friends, and plenty of time to himself in the evenings to study and also finish his Alicia Bennet book before the holidays. That's what he was doing tonight, in fact, while he waited for Potter's arrival. Wednesdays, Potter always showed up at Draco's house. Draco had Floo'd over to Grimmauld a few times to be sure, but he'd come to expect Potter's call to his place Wednesday nights exclusively.

He'd been checking the time for the past two hours, though, with no sign of Potter, and he'd become increasingly frustrated. He'd read the same paragraph multiple times now, and his prick, not as dissuaded as his annoyed mind, was half-hard for no good reason.

Draco threw his book onto the coffee table and sat there leaned forward on his sofa. He'd taken pains with his appearance for Salazar's sake. He'd bloody well bought a second pair of jeans, blue this time. If Potter were just going to stand him up, he'd much prefer to already be in his pyjamas. Not that Potter couldn't or wouldn't shag him in pyjamas. It was only that Draco hadn't wanted to give the impression that the bed was necessary. Aside from that very first time, neither of them had slept over. It was best if the general vibe of sleepiness, or anything having to do with lying together in a bed while not rutting, were left completely out of play.

Draco checked the time again. "Bloody hell," he sighed. It was eleven damned o'clock. Potter had never showed up later than nine on nights before a work day.

Draco got up and began to pace. That lasted another fifteen minutes, which only served to stoke his anger at Potter further, until on one lap of his living room he instead turned in the direction of the Floo. He threw the powder down forcefully, and before he could stop himself and think about what he was doing…

"Twelve Grimmauld Place," Draco enunciated through gritted teeth. He twisted unpleasantly through the network in a way that had become familiar, and it didn't take him long to get his bearings once he was spat out into Potter's study. Though for a moment he felt like perhaps he must have misspoken, because the first person he saw in the room was…

"Pans?"

He'd caught her mid-cackle, a glass of Firewhiskey smoking in her hand. She was on Potter's sofa, one leg tucked up under her arse so that she was turned in Potter's direction. And yes, there was Potter, slumped, his hair particularly stupid-looking, smiling full-force at Draco's best mate until he registered Draco having interrupted them.

"Draco, darling," Pansy cooed, her voice dripping with… well, Pansyness.

"What day is it?" Potter asked surreally.

"What _day_ is it?" Draco blinked.

"It's Wednesday," Pansy offered, sipping her drink casually.

"Shit, is it?" Potter squinted.

Pansy snorted. "You are so bloody lit."

"Shit," Potter said again, and Draco saw that Pansy was very right about the state of him. "I thought it was Tuesday."

Some of Draco's anger drained away at the completely pathetically confused heap Potter made on his sofa. His own confusion remained, however, about just exactly why _his_ friend was sharing it.

"Draco," Potter said suddenly. "Fuck, come in. Sit and have a drink with us." Potter waved him over clumsily, but Draco sighed, crossing his arms over his chest and staying put.

"How on earth did this unholy thing happen?" He gestured between the two of them.

"Oh, her?" Potter pointed at Pansy. "She asked if I wanted to get a drink." Potter shrugged. "So we came back here and I had six." They both laughed.

"I see." Draco rolled his eyes.

"She's been telling me stories about you."

"She… excuse me?"

"Oh come now, Draco, nothing horrible. He knows all the horrible stuff anyway," Pansy said.

"Oh, well, that's nice, you arsehole." Draco scowled at her.

"She's not an arsehole," Potter corrected, as affronted as a very drunk and relaxed person could. "She's quite lovely really."

"Is she."

"After three drinks, sure."

At that, Pansy cackled once more, throwing her head back and smacking Potter's arm. It was a ridiculous tableau: his best friend and the man he'd been fucking and, by the way, Saviour of the world that she'd nearly turned over to a dark lord, sitting there sloshed and giggling with one another.

"You look bloody hot, by the way," Potter suddenly blurted in Draco's direction. And the unabashed heat in his gaze nearly stole Draco's breath.

"Perhaps I should get that awful house-elf of yours to start some coffee."

"Already did. Don't want coffee." Potter set his drink down and simply stared at Draco until the silence in the room grew uncomfortable.

"Salazar, let me leave first, you horny, drunken fools." Pansy stood, straightening her dress and only wobbling very slightly on her ubiquitous heels.

"I'm not drunk," Draco felt the need to point out.

She weaved over to him and then whispered in his ear. "But you are horny, aren't you?" She laughed.

Draco's face flamed.

_Don't throttle her. She's your friend._

Plus, it would only prove to her that she was right.

"Pansy, are you okay to Floo?" Potter asked from his continued melting into the sofa cushions.

"Oh yes, quite, my darling." She winked at Potter. "Thank you for a lovely evening. I'll see you both at the Ministry tomorrow."

She gave Draco's arm a warm squeeze and then stepped into the Floo, uttering her address with perfect clarity before being whisked away.

"I like her," Potter said with a snort.

Draco shook his head at him. "Merlin, look at you."

Potter smirked. "C'mere."

As Draco neared, Potter took hold of his wrist and pulled him down onto the sofa next to him. To Draco's surprise, Potter didn't pounce, though. He leaned back next to Draco and sighed. "I really am sorry I forgot. Were you arsed with me?"

Draco thought about lying for a moment, but something about Potter's drunken honesty made him feel braver. "A little."

"Were you?" Potter turned his head on the sofa and searched his eyes.

"Of course. You're the prick who stood me up to get drunk with my best friend. What's not to be angry about?"

"You didn't know I was drunk with Parkinson, though. I could have been AK'ed in a forest."

"Merlin, Potter, don't joke about that."

Potter gave him a strange look then. "Why?" He laid his hand on Draco's thigh, sliding it up. "Because… you care, Draco?" He sought the bulge in Draco's jeans and squeezed.

Draco inhaled as the arousal shot through him.

Potter massaged his cock. "Draco…" he said. He pressed a kiss to his jaw. "What do you want?"

"Bloody hell…" Draco breathed. "What do you want, Potter?"

Potter's lips quirked against him. He unfastened Draco's jeans, slid his hand inside his pants, and then drew his cock out. Draco gasped, biting his lip. Potter pulled back enough to give him a heated look, and then he leaned down over Draco's lap and took his cock into his mouth.

Draco groaned, laying his head back against the sofa cushions as Potter enveloped him in wet heat and slow suction. He bobbed his head in a lazy rhythm, humming around Draco's sensitive prick. It throbbed in Potter's mouth.

"Fuck… oh fuck…" Draco lifted his head to watch. It seemed so decadent, to watch him do this. To watch Potter's cheeks hollow, to watch him suck on the head of Draco's cock only to let the girth stretch his mouth as he descended. Draco closed his eyes and just _felt_ for a moment – the tenderness of Potter's lips, the cradle his tongue made, the vibrations of Potter moaning in pleasure, how his cock rubbed against the inside of Potter's cheek. "So good…" Draco breathed. "Potter, so good…"

Potter lifted his head, and Draco opened his eyes.

"Call me Harry tonight," Potter said, something like pain flashing across his eyes. "Please just call me Harry tonight." He went back to it, and as Draco's head fell back again in bliss, the name just sort of sighed out of him.

"Harry…"

Potter's breath rushed from his nostrils against Draco's body at the sound of his own name from Draco's lips.

It felt… good. Powerful almost.

So Draco kept going.

"I love your mouth… Harry."

"Mmm…"

Draco breathed in the dark behind his lids. He hesitated, and then blindly sought and sank his fingers into Potter's soft, messy hair.

"You're going to make me come," he whispered. "Harry…"

Potter gripped his thigh, his head bobbing up and down faster. Draco leaned his head back, gasping at Potter's ceiling, " _Har-ry…_ ", and came in his mouth.

Potter swallowed, humming, tongue gathering it in at the slit.

"Oh fuck…" Draco gasped.

"One more time," Potter murmured against his cock and then swallowed it again.

"Fuck you, Harry," Draco breathed out.

Potter huffed a laugh, his nose practically buried in Draco's crotch, before he rose once more, lifting off. He stayed there for a moment, while Draco was still mostly hard, and nuzzled his cock, his eyes closed, one last hum of pleasure rumbling from him.

Then he leaned back into the sofa cushions.

"Do you want me to…?" Draco asked.

Potter waved a hand. "I probably couldn't come."

"You sure?"

"Yeah," Potter said. "Don't worry, I'm brilliant." He sighed. "Tired though." And without further warning, he went to lie down on the sofa, leaving Draco to jump up or have a lapful of Potter's head. Again.

Draco rose from the sofa as Potter lay down, snuggling into the cushions, his eyes already closed. "I love this sofa," he sighed, and Draco stifled a snicker at him.

"Where do you keep your blankets?" he asked, doing up his jeans.

"Mmm." Potter didn't tell him, just drawing his wand and giving it a swish. Moments later, in soared a blanket and pillow from up the stairs, the blanket unfurling over his body and floating down on him like a feather. The pillow dropped onto his face, though, and Potter groaned.

"Here," Draco said, shoving it gently under Potter's briefly lifted head. It took an enormous amount of restraint not to stroke his hand over Potter's head as he retreated. And he might have. Just a little.

"Thanks," Potter said. "You could stay. If you wanted."

Draco looked down on him, dishevelled, his lips still swollen from Draco's cock. " _Merlin…_ "

"Hmm?"

"Oh, I just… I should go, Potter."

Potter's lips twisted, half-frown and half-begrudging smile. He opened just one eye. " _Malfoy,_ " he groused. Then he snuggled back under his blanket with a yawn.

"I'll see you tomorrow," Draco said softly.

"Mm-hmm."

"Remember to take that hangover potion, will you?"

"Mm." He raised his eyebrows a little in acknowledgement.

"Goodnight," Draco said, the regret surprising as it seemed to fill his chest.

"Night, Draco. Thanks for coming over so I could blow you."

Draco snorted. "You're welcome, Harry."

Potter smiled in return. His eyes remained closed, but his face lit up with contentedness.

Draco pulled his wand and cast a Warming charm on the room. He doused all but one paltry lamp in the corner. Then, with one last look at the sleepy lump on the sofa, he stepped back into the Floo and went home.

~~~

It was days before Christmas, and Draco hadn't decided if he was skiving off England to go to the Alps or staying home and maybe seeing if Bulstrode and her crew of Transportation mates weren't already occupied elsewhere. Pansy, the wanker, had proclaimed to already have plans on Christmas Eve, which she stalwartly refused to disclose. If Draco waited much longer to decide, though, he'd have nothing. Not that it would be horrible. It was simply that… well, he'd always been fond of the holiday. When he was small, yes, it was mostly about the absurd number of gifts his parents showered on him. But then he got to Hogwarts, and though he'd have never admitted it, he loved the whole feel of it: the decorations, the cold weather, the feast.

And just before the war, Draco had come to dread going home instead of staying at the castle. He never knew when Voldemort would come to call on his father. And then, one time he came – and he stayed. Draco would have given anything to be back at Hogwarts then. He might have wept to see the brilliance of the candles illuminating tables full of people who reviled him. Anything would have been preferable to… Well, to the things he'd witnessed in that house.

Spending a solitary Christmas in his own house, surrounded by the comforts of his own new life, would not be the worst thing in the world. Joan would be thrilled at not having to travel.

It was the trainees' last day at the Ministry before a fortnight holiday, and Draco had waited until the end of the day to approach Millicent about her plans. He'd made a special trip to Transportation on his way out of the building, so it was extra irksome that she not only had plans but that those plans were to go with Blaise to the bloody Alps.

"With _my_ parents?"

"Sorry, Draco," she sighed, stacking parchments. "What about your boyfriend?"

For a split second 'I don't have a boyfriend,' was on the tip of his tongue before he remembered that that was the entire point of his and Potter's arrangement and of _course_ Millicent would ask him that. "He's… I… I'm not sure. Yet."

"You're an idiot."

"What the bloody hell?"

She rolled her eyes. "Salazar's shorts, Draco, just go ask him to spend Christmas with you. It's Potter. He's so sickeningly in love with you, you could practically get him to do anything you bloody well wanted, so just ask him already."

"Wh-what?"

She snorted. "Like I said, you're an idiot."

Heat travelled up Draco's throat. "Clearly, you're very much enjoying taking the piss, Millie, but I have places to be and I don't find you funny in the least."

She gave him a sardonic brow. "Who's laughing, you knob?"

His ears had begun to ring and he might have forgotten to breathe for a bit. "I don't know what you're on about. And that's a fine thing to say to me in the spirit of the holiday."

"If the bell-tipped, Elven shoes fit."

"Well, sod off then," he scoffed. "You and Blaise and just the lot of you." He waved his hand around, irrationally damning the entire Transportation department along with his crap friends.

Millicent gave him a crooked grin that contained more affection than he'd been expecting. He frowned deeply, and, without another word, turned to go.

He waited for the lift with his arms crossed. He felt that place between his jaw and his ear twitching… the one Potter had informed him of at the Leaky that time. He sighed hard through nostrils he could feel were flaring.

" _What about your boyfriend,_ " he muttered under his breath.

The lift dinged and the grate opened, and Draco was so intent on storming into it that he almost didn't register Potter standing there with his hands stuck in his pockets.

"Hey," Potter said, seeing him, a soft smile brightening his face.

"Hey," Draco replied, his frown still in place yet less firmly.

"Going home for the day?" Potter asked as the lift proceeded down.

"Mm."

There was a short silence before Potter spoke again. "I've been meaning to ask you."

After an even longer silence into which no new words intruded, Draco turned to him slightly. "Yes?"

Potter cleared his throat, rocking up onto the balls of his feet and then back onto his heels. "Christmas Eve at the Burrow. Can you come?"

Draco blinked at him. After a moment, Potter turned to him with an expectant look on his face.

"Yes," Draco said. "Didn't I say 'yes'?"

Potter smiled. "No, you didn't." He paused. "You have now, though. Just so we're clear."

"Right."

"So you're coming?"

"Yeah, sure. If it's alright with the Weasleys."

"Of course it is," Potter said as they passed Magical Games and Sports.

Draco had not thought there'd be any 'of course' about it. "Well… thanks. Er, thank you."

There was another pause as Potter watched the lever that moved slowly between the numbers. Then he said, "We could go together. I mean, I could pick you up."

Draco swallowed. "Y-yeah, that would be…"

"Good," Potter said. "Six o'clock then?"

"Sure. Great."

"Great." There was another interminable pause, and then Potter asked, "Want to have a shag in the lift?"

Draco turned incredulous eyes on him to find Potter looking blankly innocent, only to break into a smirk at Draco's stunned expression. He looked like the Kneazle that ate all the bloody canaries.

"Way to wait to ask until I've got to my level," Draco said as the lift slowed to a stop at the Atrium.

"Next time." Potter waggled his eyebrows at him.

Draco fought the smile he wanted to return it with, stepping out of the lift. "Aren't you…?" he asked when Potter didn't join him.

"I'm meeting Hermione. We're shopping for Ron tonight."

"Oh, alright then. I'll—"

The lift grate began to close.

"Six o'clock! I'll pick you up!" Potter called just before he shot out of sight.

Draco turned and made his way to the Floos, his steps automatic as he was lost in thought. Potter was taking him to the Burrow. The _Burrow_. His choices were the Italian Alps with his parents, the Zabinis, and Millicent Bulstrode, or a rickety, cramped house full of ginger Gryffindors who may or may not still hate him.

…Champagne flutes full, lavish meals and gifts, or his holiday spent with a family who didn't even have one house-elf.

…polite, pureblood conversation, as cold on the inside of whatever mansion they'd inhabit as surely it would be outside, or…

Potter.

His Christmas spent with Harry Potter.

_It's Potter. He's so sickeningly in love with you, you could practically get him to do anything you bloody well wanted…_

Draco laughed to himself. Though the ringing in his ears was disturbingly back. Millicent was the idiot.

Still…

Draco Floo'd home, went immediately to his desk by the window, and began composing a suitably "regretful" Owl to his parents.

~~~

Christmas Eve day, Draco planned to make a trip to Diagon for some kind of present for Potter. Yet as he dressed, he began wondering what his gift-giving obligations actually were. Something for Mr and Mrs Weasley for hosting, obviously. And then Granger and Weasley were Potter's best mates, so it would look bad if Draco hadn't bought them anything. Merlin help him, he was going to have to buy a gift for _Weasley?_ It was a rather untenable thought, and Draco realised his face had contorted into something he might effect if he were to eat the Ministry's infamous chicken salad.

He wiped the expression from his face and chimed Potter's Floo, and when Potter's messy head appeared in the flames, Draco spat, "I need a guest list. I can't believe you waited so long to ask me and then didn't provide me with a bloody guest list."

"Oh," Potter said, appearing genuinely perplexed.

Draco rolled his eyes at him. "I'm leaving in twenty minutes. I need names before then."

"Uh, sure. Okay. Give me a tic." He ducked out of Draco's Floo.

Nineteen minutes later, he was back, handing through a parchment. "There you are. But why—"

"Goodbye, Potter." Draco ended the call with a swish of his wand.

~

And in hindsight, he might have gone overboard. He wasn't sure. He really should have asked Potter. That would have been the intelligent thing to do. But no, he'd hared off to Diagon with a guest list and enough nervous energy to send a herd of Hippogriffs into a stampede.

There was no turning back now. He could just not give the gifts he bought, return them all, but… Draco sighed. He didn't especially relish the long return lines post-holiday. No, what was done was done.

He straightened his jumper for the fifth time, nearly deciding to change yet again, because what was he trying to accomplish with a sky-blue jumper anyway? Did he expect them all to think he'd converted to Ravenclawism?

"Bloody hell," he gritted out and was about to strip the thing off when his Floo chimed, and in the next moment, the sound of Potter stumbling into his living room reached his ears.

"I'll be out in a moment!" Draco shouted.

But either Potter didn't hear him or he was a graceless, nosy, Gryffindor arsehole who seemed to think it was okay to saunter back into Draco's bedroom regardless.

Draco would have slammed the door closed in his face, but… Well, Potter's face at having seen him stopped him short. Potter's soft gaze moved over his stupid jumper appreciatively before he met Draco's eyes. "Hi," he said.

"Hello yourself. Should I have worn jeans? I could change." He took in Potter's casual choice of a green jumper with blue jeans. The green took Draco by surprise until he realised how drastically the colour brought out Potter's eyes. Then he found himself wondering why Potter didn't wear green all the bloody time, he looked so shockingly handsome and—

Draco swallowed. But of course he wouldn't want to sport Slytherin green on a daily basis. His choice, knowing Potter, was likely accidental, perhaps the only thing he had left that was clean.

Potter cleared his throat. "No, you look… perfect." At Draco's raised brows, he prevaricated. "For the occasion. It's… You're… Spot-on, is what I mean."

Draco took a deep breath. "Good. I'm glad. I've never been to a Burrow Christmas, so I just made a guess."

Potter's gaze took on a pensive sheen. "You don't have to try so hard, Draco."

Draco blinked at him. "Well, we want to provide a convincing enough façade, don't we?"

There was a time when Potter would have flinched at the crass way Draco referred to their agreement, but tonight he just looked mildly bemused. "You do realise there won't be any press in attendance."

Draco shrugged. "Of course I realise. There is, however, one Mrs Weas—"

Potter cut him off. "And that you're meant to have this thing other people like to call 'fun'."

"I resent your patronising air quotes, Potter," Draco said but with a quirk of a smile betraying him.

Potter smiled then, too. "Come on then." He jerked his head in the direction of the living room.

"I'll meet you by the Floo. I just need to get the… get my… I'll just be a moment."

"Sure." Potter frowned inquiringly but then backed out of the room and made his way down the hall.

Draco then turned to his closet full of gifts and drew his wand to shrink them into something that might fit in the bottomless bag he'd purchased while he was out. Not that he fancied looking like Granger carrying such a ridiculous thing around by any means, but… well, it would have to do.

Draco opened the closet, and before things could tumble out in an avalanche all around him, he jabbed his wand.

~

The Burrow wasn't anything like Draco had expected. Well, all right, it was a bit, but it didn't _feel_ like he'd assumed it would, and that made him confront that perhaps there were some beliefs he still unknowingly clung to in ignorance. Which was not at all a delightful realisation, as Draco had never been gifted at eating crow or feeling in the least humbled, even in the relative privacy of his own mind. He'd really have rather choked on a bezoar.

The Weasley Burrow felt _warm_. Warm beyond a simple charm or a baking oven. Draco had assumed that sort of warmth would be reserved only for those who'd grown up there and those, like Potter, who'd been adopted in. He'd expected to feel left on the outside of that sensation, as though he were peering in through a window while shivering in the wind.

But Arthur Weasley's grip on Draco's hand when he shook it was warm, and the hug Molly forced on him didn't feel reserved or hesitant. In fact, she looked as pleased to see him as she did Potter. Or maybe only slightly less.

Or maybe it was that her pleasure at seeing Potter just overflowed onto Draco because he was nearby. It didn't really matter; he was ushered into her home with all the flutter and cheer he thought he'd be repulsed by when he was younger. But it wasn't at all repulsive, even though it was jarring in its sincerity. It was rather… lovely.

"Hey, Harry!" Someone who Draco suspected might be Charlie Weasley waved from across the living room, and he and Potter made their way deeper into what turned out to be a cosy, bright, and colourful house. And it wasn't actually dirty like he'd imagined either. The surfaces didn't shine like they did at the Manor, and there were a lot less open ones in the first place, but Draco found there wasn't a feeling of claustrophobia from it like he'd expected. On the contrary, it rendered his family home cavernous and echoing by comparison.

Potter's hand touched lightly to his lower back, and Draco realised he was being introduced to a collection of Weasleys he was sure to confuse with one another. At least the spouses were more easily discernable; he certainly recalled Fleur Delacour from fourth year, and Angelina Johnson had been no joke on a broom and therefore was not easily forgotten. Draco shook hands, and Potter's fingers remained, light but distracting, on his back but near the transition to his waist as they made their way around.

It struck Draco, as he attempted to listen to someone named Percy, that Potter's public touches had never felt as artificial as they no doubt were. Draco had thought it must have something to do with Potter's forthrightness as a person… that even when he was being disingenuous, his own genuine nature seeped into his actions anyway and lent them an air of sincerity. He smiled at something this Weasley had said, and Potter's hand, for just a moment, rubbed up and down his back before falling away.

Once he'd met all the new people, Draco nodded to Granger, Weasley, Longbottom, the usual assortment of Potter's friends. Then there was Lovegood and—

"What the bloody hell?" Draco blurted.

"I told you I had plans," Pansy said with a smirk.

"Wanker."

"And a Happy Christmas to you too." She raised a glass.

Draco turned to Potter hotly. "You're a tosser too, aren't you? She was invited before I was."

"By Luna. Not," Potter hastened to say, sparing Pansy an apologetic look, "that I wouldn't have invited you myself, mind. But he's right. I was rather late—"

"Decrepit," Draco supplied.

"—getting my invitations out."

Draco scoffed. Potter's 'invitation' had consisted entirely of his offhand remark in the lift followed by a sexual proposition. Draco hardly wanted to know how he'd asked everyone else!

"Well, whatever the case," Pansy said, "I'm glad to see you could make it, Draco." She gave him one of her annoying little winks before getting dragged into an argument between Lovegood and Longbottom about the mating behaviour of Bowtruckles.

Someone had put on some Celestina Warbeck at a rather alarming volume, and Potter leaned in to ask in his ear, "Get you a drink?"

Draco fought the inclination to provide Potter's lips better access, taking a deep breath. "Sure."

"Preference?"

"Something hot?"

Potter leaned back out. "Be right back." He spared Draco a small smile and made his way toward the kitchen.

A moment later, Draco had to question his decision not to follow and get his own bloody drink, because now he was just standing in the middle of the Weasley living room with no drink yet to sip, nothing to do with his hands except stuff them into his pockets, and no one to talk to with whom it wouldn't be an awkward strain.

"Draco."

He turned with such relief that for a moment he smiled at her without realising who it was.

"Ginny," she said when he neglected to. She stuck out her hand, and after a moment's hesitation, he grasped it and shook.

"Right," he said. Her grip was warm and Chaser-strong. He let go as soon as was socially acceptable.

"I think I was in the kitchen helping Mum when you were making the rounds. How are you then?"

He tried not to startle at the banality of the question. "I… Fine. And you? I didn't know you'd be…" He trailed off as he realised how that must sound. "I thought you had—"

"I had a game last night, but I got a Portkey back in time." She shrugged.

"Well," he said. "Good." He cleared his throat. "Did you, uh, win?"

She smiled. "Yeah actually. Two-ten to sixty."

"Well… congratulations." He nodded. And then it felt like they'd stood there long enough that he considered Apparating as a means of escaping having to spend a moment more in the company of Potter's ex-girlfriend. In fact, he wondered why she wasn't walking away. She had legs, people to see and talk to.

He was just beginning to resent the fact that she was still standing there, making the both of them suffer, when she suddenly said, "I'm happy that…" She stopped and swallowed. At the incline of Draco's head, she continued. "I'm really happy about… things," she finished.

For a moment, he really had no idea what she was on about. Why was she telling him how happy she was? He figured maybe she'd got a bit pissed already. But then, as she continued to look at him with this strange waiting expression, it struck him.

"Oh."

"He seems happy. Really happy."

Draco merely blinked at her.

"I just wanted to say… well, Happy Christmas."

"I… Happy Christmas."

The familiar warmth of Potter's body beside his returned and a mug of hot chocolate was pressed into his hand. "Hey Gin. Nice goal last night."

"Which one?" She quirked a confident smile.

As Potter spoke, he situated his arm around Draco's back again. "About ten minutes in. The one when Jackson took that Feint, and when Mathers was distracted you banked the Quaffle off his back and into the hoop. Bloody brilliant." He sipped his own hot chocolate as Ginny's smile brightened.

"Ah, yeah that was inspired," she said. Her gaze, just ever so briefly, dropped to the peek of Potter's fingers around Draco's waist. "Speaking of Quidditch though, Ron owes me a Galleon on the Puddlemere/Cannons game. See you in a bit?" She reached out and squeezed Potter's arm, giving Draco a smile before she left.

"She wasn't on the list," Draco murmured to Potter who gave him a quizzical little frown. Draco turned slightly, and Potter's hand fell from his waist.

"Draco, no one's expecting you to give out gifts to everyone in attendance, you realise that, right?"

"Mm." Draco took a sip of his drink and let his gaze wander around the room to avoid Potter. It was true that he hadn't got Ginny Weasley a gift. It was also true that he'd rather Splinch off his left bollock than give her anything at all. Not that she didn't seem like a perfectly lovely person, who made miraculous Quidditch plays apparently. Draco was sure she was bloody fantastic and all.

Draco was nudged from his musings when Potter asked, "Is the hot chocolate okay? It's probably childish, but Christmas doesn't feel right without it to me. I could get you something stronger if—"

"No, it's good." He gave Potter a reassuring smile. "It's perfect."

"There aren't any marshmallows in yours. You don't seem like a marshmallow sort of bloke to me."

Draco smirked at him. "I don't?"

Potter shrugged. And then before Draco knew which end was up, Potter had swiftly drawn his wand. Draco flinched back slightly even as Potter declared, "I could get you some. If you wanted them."

"I…" Draco blinked at Potter there, wand at the ready. To fetch Draco marshmallows. "No, I… It's really good. Just like this."

Potter's gaze dropped from Draco's. He blushed a little. "Good." He stashed his wand and sipped his own drink, and Draco watched his gaze travel the room. There was a rogue bit of hair at Potter's nape that flipped out oddly, and Draco had half a mind to stroke his fingers over it to try to tame it. But the other half rather liked it all sprung out like that. It struck him as very properly Gryffindorish, that freaky little defiance of hair. Like it was on some no doubt ill-conceived mission all its own.

Someone clapped and startled Draco from his preoccupation. Arthur Weasley cleared his throat and the room hushed to listen, which thankfully included Warbeck's Greatest Hits being turned down.

"This was only supposed to be a party so that as many of us as possible could get together and enjoy some fine company, but I've been told some of you have some things you'd like to exchange, so what would everyone say to having a seat and—"

"Presents!" Charlie called out from between cupped hands, sending a few laughs rippling through the room.

"Yes, you always were the first one down from your room to open yours," Mrs Weasley chided. "Fine then, you go first, Charlie."

"Come on," Potter murmured into Draco's ear. He took his hand and pulled Draco over to a small but squishy sofa. As they sat, Potter's arm came to rest behind Draco's shoulders. It reminded Draco of that night at the pub. It was that same relaxed, not-quite-possessive gesture that coursed warmth through his veins and made him momentarily forget that this whole thing was made up. And when Potter's fingers nonchalantly brushed Draco's shoulder, Draco decided, again, not to care.

He found himself relaxing as well, as he was treated to the unpretentious display of a Weasley Christmas. None of the gifts were ostentatious. In fact, some were very obviously jokes that had everyone laughing when, for instance, Ron received…

"Ugh, it smells worse than ever!" He pulled a face at what appeared to be a very old, very used Keeper's helmet.

Potter leaned in to tell him, "Somebody gets that thing every year."

Draco huffed a laugh as Weasley held it at arm's length before letting it drop back into the box it had come in. "Thanks a bloody lot, Charlie."

"Always a pleasure, Ron."

Mr Weasley then received a large box of…

"What is that?" Draco leaned in to ask Potter.

"Oh, those are Muggle cords. More specifically they're mobile chargers."

"What's that?"

"I'll explain them later. All you need to know is that Arthur loves this stuff. I mean, look at him."

And sure enough, he was beaming. At having received a box full of old Muggle crap.

"Huh," Draco said. Potter chuckled, and his fingers moved over Draco's shoulder distractedly.

When it was Mrs Weasley's turn, she flicked her wand, and brightly wrapped packages all floated into everyone's laps – including Draco's. He shot a look at Potter, and Potter just gave him a warm smirk, removing his arm from the back of the couch in order to nudge Draco in his ribs. "Open it," he said, tearing open his own.

Draco unwrapped shiny silver paper to find a light green jumper with a large dark green 'D' sown onto the front. It looked like it would be a size too big, and it was the farthest thing from haute couture he could conceive of, and yet… "Thank you," he said even as a weird lump formed in his throat. He glanced up at Mrs Weasley smiling serenely at him. "This is too kind of you."

She waved her hand, and Draco turned his attention to Potter next to him, holding up a brown jumper with a big scarlet 'H' on it. Draco wondered how many colours he'd already gone through to end on brown. Not that that seemed like a bad thing… to have someone knit you enough jumpers to go through the entire colour wheel. It was actually rather an amazing accomplishment, to have people who technically weren't obligated by blood to love you having knit you things from how fond they were of you. Draco looked down at his own jumper and squeezed its heavy softness in his hands.

"I have some…" The words came out of his mouth before he realised perhaps he wasn't ready after all.

But people had heard, and the room seemed to have an expectant air about it.

Potter murmured next to him, "S'okay."

Draco swallowed. "Um, I brought a few things."

"Well, that's lovely, Draco," Mrs Weasley offered sweetly. It just made him more nervous somehow.

"Harry first," Draco said and glanced up to see some nods of general approval. No doubt they expected as much, which brought heat to Draco's cheeks. He cleared his throat, Summoned his bag, and then stuck his wand in, withdrawing and simultaneously enlarging the gift he'd bought until it landed, wrapped but patently obvious, in Potter's lap. "There," Draco said stiffly even to his own ears. "Happy Christmas."

"Merlin," Weasley joked, "wonder what that _broom-shaped_ thing could be." At which point, both Granger and Ginny, sitting on either side of him, walloped him on the back of the head. "Oi!"

Potter hadn't seemed to have heard. He was gazing at the still-wrapped gift in stunned silence.

"Go on then, Harry," Lovegood urged.

Potter tore into the wrapping until the Firebolt Infinity was in full view. Everyone in the room seemed to gasp, and Draco felt flames of embarrassment burst up the back of his neck. Potter's hands stroked over the broomstick. He looked at Draco. "I can't… You…" He looked at Draco, blinking. And then he leaned in quickly and pressed a hard kiss to Draco's lips. "Bloody hell, Draco," he said once he'd leaned back again. "Thank you."

Draco shrugged. "I saw you eyeing it like you might steal it right off the wall, so… I only bought it to keep you out of Azkaban."

Potter smiled at him, full force, his eyes sparkling. He sobered slightly as they looked at each other, and Draco was forced to look away to preserve his sanity.

"Who's next?" someone called.

"Wait," Draco held up a hand. "I actually have, um… Just a moment…" He stuck his wand in the bag again. "You might want to duck down." When he drew his wand once more, a Firebolt Infinity, one for every member of the Weasley family excepting Molly and Arthur (and Ginny) flew from the bag and came to hover in front of its new owner.

"What?!" Ron screeched.

"Holy bloody hell," said Bill.

"I, uh… I know you all enjoy Quidditch, and Harry's told me that you have matches in your garden, so…"

"What?!" Ron wailed once more, seemingly incapable of any other response.

"Ginny, I wasn't aware you'd be in attendance. Though I suspect you might already—"

"Own twelve thousand brooms? I do. It's fine." She smiled and nodded her encouragement.

Draco glanced over to see Potter staring at him with a look on his face Draco could hardly begin to define.

Several people were thanking him. Someone altogether too strong was pounding him on the back as someone would if he were choking, but Draco assumed it was intended to be a gesture of gratitude instead.

"You're welcome," he said and then hastily dipped his wand in one last time, sending out the rest of the gifts to people as he avoided Potter's continued staring.

But once he'd finished and there was nothing left to do, Potter nudged him. "Hey."

"What?" Draco turned with a sigh.

Potter shook his head. He looked like he was going to say something in particular but then thought better of it. He sighed and then smiled. "Well, now my broom's not so special, is it?"

Draco gave a soft snort. "Can't have you getting the Snitch just because of your ride, Potter."

"Merlin forbid," Potter answered, eyes sparkling. "That's a very Slytherin reason."

"Well, what did you expect?"

Potter sighed again, his gaze softening. "Not this."

Draco took a deep breath, his gaze sliding from Potter's to his lips. Peripherally, he heard Arthur Weasley talking about Christmas pudding, which was when Potter startled.

"Wait, no," he said. "I, uh, I have my gifts. Uh… Just a minute."

Potter shot Draco a glance and then dug in his pocket and pulled out a bag of his own, which he re-enlarged with a swipe of his wand.

"I guess since you gave me mine first," he said with a shrug and then handed Draco a wrapped present. When Draco hesitated with it in his lap, Potter nudged him. "Go on. It's nothing that bites."

Draco cast him a wry look and saw Potter's eyes sparkling – which really only served to bring to mind all the many times Potter himself had sunk his teeth into Draco's flesh as they fu—

"Draco," Potter prompted.

Draco cleared his throat and ripped into the paper. It was the quill set he'd admired at the bookshop. Draco ran his hand over the shiny glass case in which they came. "You… I was going to go back for this myself," he said.

"Good thing I beat you to it then." Potter smirked.

Draco felt suddenly like he was at a higher altitude, like drawing regular breaths was a sort of ecstatic effort. He sighed. "Harry…" He looked into Potter's warm gaze.

Potter then leaned in and whispered close and hot in his ear, "You can thank me later." Then he chuckled, sparking a return laugh from Draco.

"I should have known," Draco murmured to him, though his chest felt full, almost constricted. "Bloody pervert."

Potter leaned back again, still smiling.

Someone in the room cleared their throat meaningfully.

"Oh, uh, sorry," Potter stammered. "Actually, I do have more in here, but I don't want to make them stand out in the cold any longer."

"Huh?" Ron said, representing the group no doubt, as Draco really had no idea what Potter was talking about either.

"Not that they've been out there long mind, but…" He rose and made his way to the door. "Hermione," he said. "Happy Christmas."

When Potter opened the door, two people who looked vaguely familiar to Draco shyly stepped over the threshold. Hermione prompted burst from her seat and ran over, flinging her arms around the woman. "Mum! Oh my God, Mum!" and then reaching for the man, "Dad! You're here! Oh my God, you're _here_!"

Draco turned his attention to Potter, standing there watching his friend with her parents. Potter's smile was so alive, so unselfconscious, and Draco just kept watching him, even as Granger wiped at her eyes and brought her parents in, introducing them to the Weasleys they'd not yet met and such. Potter hung back, crossing his arms over his strong chest and leaning against the hearth. He followed Granger's movement about the room fondly before, sort of suddenly, his gaze shifted over to Draco and held there. He blinked, and Draco swallowed. They stared at each other for a long moment, and Draco felt the rest of the room mute in response, the incredible beating of his heart taking residence in his ears.

But then Granger was flinging her arms around Potter and thanking him tearfully, and Potter's attention once again shifted back to his friend. It gave Draco some much needed room to breathe, as he realised he'd stopped at some point. Draco stood, brushing off nonexistent debris from the thighs of his trousers, and, still a little too breathless for comfort, made his way out of the room and onto a quaint little veranda overlooking the back garden.

The chill cut through his clothes almost instantly, and Draco thought about casting a Warming charm before he realised that it wasn't an entirely unpleasant sensation. He took a deep breath of cold night air. It tasted like snow, and Draco turned his face up to the bright moon disappearing under one white-grey cloud after another as they passed quietly over the sky. He breathed out a warm stream of breath and gripped the balustrade in both hands.

"What the hell are you doing out here in the cold?" came from behind him.

Draco spared Weasley a vaguely annoyed glance. He'd come out here for a moment's peace after all. He suspected that was a virtue in short supply in this household though. He'd probably been lucky to get the minute and a half he'd got. "Just admiring the glint of the moonlight off scurrying garden gnome's arses," he replied.

To his dismay, Weasley joined him at the balustrade, leaning his forearms against it and staring up at the moon. "Fuck, it's cold."

"We'd already established that. Why the bloody hell are you out here then?"

Weasley turned a look on him then that Draco never expected to receive from him. It was full of wary vulnerability, maybe even a barely banked inferno of fear. Draco frowned.

Weasley cleared his throat, his expression steeling somewhat. He drew his wand from his back pocket and gave it a wave. In the next moment, a half empty bottle of Irish whiskey floated from a window high above – which Draco had to assume was Weasley's childhood bedroom – and down into his hands. He unscrewed the top and took a long pull. "Liquid courage," Weasley said, grimacing. "Of the nonmagical variety."

He held the bottle out to Draco, and after a moment's hesitation borne of really not wanting to drink after him, Draco shrugged and took it. He sipped and his cold body rejoiced at the warm burn of it. He handed the bottle back and watched Weasley take another draw.

"Not fond of the holidays?" Draco hazarded a guess.

Weasley snorted. Then he patted Draco on the back, like Draco was a friend out here with him rather than the arsehole who'd made his life hell for so long. "Thanks for the broom, mate," he said. He then leaned on the balustrade again and sighed up at the moon.

"It was nothing," Draco said. "I just—"

He was interrupted by a much louder snort this time, and Weasley turned to him with incredulity in his eyes. "Bloody hell, I don't think there's been a more daft git in the history of daft gits!"

"Wha…? Excuse me?"

"Have you ever in your life been that generous? Hmm, Malfoy? Why do you suppose that is? If you don't know then you're even stupider than I've been giving you credit for." He took a large sloshing drink, and Draco, for lack of any better response, swiped the bottle from him and drank again himself, his hands inexplicably shaking.

"So?" Weasley asked belligerently.

"So?" Draco flung back. "I like him!" He wasn't at all sure why he said the last, but… Well, maybe he _did_ know.

"You like him. Well, that's great, Malfoy. He's fucking _in love with you!_ He's been fucking in love with you for fucking ever! And now he's going to kill me for telling you, but shit! Someone had to! Gimme that."

He made a play for the bottle but Draco had already dropped it, and it rolled slowly across the veranda, down the rickety stairs, and into the brown garden grass.

"What?" Draco could feel his throat constricting, the edges of his vision wavering. He swallowed. "What?"

"See?" Weasley gestured at him. "Daft. Git." Then he pulled a sober-up potion from his back pocket, taking a drink from it and making Draco wonder why he'd bothered with the whiskey in the first place. "Can you keep a secret? For, like, five minutes at least?"

"Yes?" Draco felt intensely confused by the wild swinging of this conversation. He felt even more confused by the fact that Ron Weasley was about to confide in him – after declaring him a daft git.

"Bugger," Weasley sighed. Then he pulled a small velvet box from his pocket and opened it so that Draco could see…

"Merlin," Draco breathed. It was a delicately simple yet beautiful diamond engagement ring. Draco gawped at it before he turned his gaze to Weasley's face. That sickly vulnerable expression was back. "Tonight?"

"Yup."

"So that's the reason for the…"

"Liquid courage, yeah."

"And then the…"

"Sobering potion." Weasley nodded.

Draco blinked. "Why are you showing me this?"

Weasley looked a bit like he pitied Draco then. He laid a hand on Draco's shoulder and said earnestly, "Because you and me? We're the same. And you needed to see it."

"Needed to see what?"

"You need to see that this is what scared shitless and doing it anyway looks like, mate."

Draco blinked at Weasley's face in the bitter cold as his freckles were overtaken by a blush. Whether the rose on Weasley's cheeks was from cold, quickly consumed whiskey, or his fear of proposing to Granger, Draco couldn't be certain.

"We're not the same," Draco found himself saying.

Weasley smirked at him. "You know, that's true. Because _I'm_ no longer a daft git." He turned to go inside. "Good talk."

Draco felt a tremendous pressure under his ribs. It rose up and pushed into his chest, and once Weasley's hand was on the doorknob and turning, Draco let the building pressure become a word.

"Ron!"

Weasley turned back slightly. "Yeah?"

"How long is 'for fucking ever'?"

Weasley gave him a sad-ish smile. "Ask him."

Weasley left the door open upon his retreat back inside the house, and a boom of happy laughter leapt out into the night. It was the kind of laughter Draco would have once considered rude, too noisy for polite company and likely to ricochet off any nearby marble surface. Humiliating, to be that outwardly happy. Now he found he rather liked it. Another string of giggles – someone was telling a joke – floated out to Draco's ears, and he found himself wandering back to the doorway, shoving cold hands into his pockets and leaning against the threshold, half in and half out.

He watched the Weasleys, maybe for the first time in his life, without a shred of disgust. Well, except that which he was feeling for himself. He'd lived a whole life without this, denigrating this, and now… he found himself aching for it. He felt embarrassed that he'd bought all those brooms, and he wasn't even properly certain why. Maybe it was that it was just one more ostentatious show of wealth in two decades' worth of them. Maybe it was being afraid that they'd think he was trying to purchase their affections.

Or maybe it was closer to something Weasley had hinted at.

Maybe it was for Harry.

Maybe it had all been for Harry.

And that was the scariest reason of all.

He'd no sooner thought it then he caught Potter's eye from across the room. He was standing with Dean Thomas in what appeared to be an engaged and amusing conversation, when he glanced up and saw Draco in the doorway. Potter lifted his mug of hot chocolate in greeting, and something awful happened inside Draco's body. Something terrifying for how little control he had over it. And who was he kidding? _No_ control. He had _no_ control over this thing.

He was so stupid. So fucking stupid.

Bloody hell. Weasley was right.

He was a daft git.

He was so busy staring at Potter that he nearly missed Weasley drawing Granger into the centre of the room and taking both her hands in his.

"Hermione," Weasley began with a tremor in his voice, and everyone quieted. "I've loved you since before I knew I loved you. I loved you eons before we first kissed. I think I loved you from the moment you first saved my arse, even though I probably didn't show it very well and I think I called you a know-it-all or something and—" At Granger's expression turning slightly cross, Weasley gulped and abandoned that point. "What I mean to say is… it's always been you, Hermione."

Draco watched as he sank down to the carpet and got on one knee. The room seemed to gasp all the air from the space, and Granger's eyes went wide with shock. Weasley produced the box from his pocket, and as he did so, Draco realised his own heart was clamouring as though he'd just finished duelling someone. He cut his gaze to Potter to see him looking on, an expression of such unabashed love on his face that it was undeniable as anything but. He removed his glasses and rubbed the heel of his hand under his eyes, one after the other, and the force of Draco's own longing almost made him Apparate across the room to Potter's side.

"Hermione Granger. Will you marry me?"

"Ron Weasley, yes," Granger replied and then joined him on the ground as they kissed.

The room broke into the kind of applause Draco had only encountered at Quidditch matches. Draco suspected that this _was_ a bit like catching the ultimate Snitch. As the kiss ended, and Weasley's hands shook too badly for him to place the ring on Granger's finger, Granger took it and put it on herself.

"You saved my arse again," Weasley laughed wetly.

They embraced as the family gathered around to help pull them back to their feet and usher them into hug after painful-looking hug.

Draco watched them, the cold at his back, and crossed his arms over his chest. They were so happy, and so open about being happy. They were loudly, unrepentantly happy.

There was nothing in the way of all that feeling.

As Draco stood there, half frozen and half overly warm, he felt the presence of a body nearing at his side and closed his eyes on who he knew he'd find there if he turned to look.

Potter's voice came, close and hot as he murmured near Draco's ear, "Come home with me."

Draco scoffed, eyes still stubbornly shut. "Your friends just got engaged."

"I know."

"Your very best friends."

"I saw. I was right here."

Then Draco felt him move minutely closer and shivered.

"Draco," Potter said. "Come home with me."

Against his better judgement, Draco opened his eyes. He turned to see Potter's face, the quiet intensity of his eyes. And it was there. It was all right there. Draco took a deep breath and consciously turned what he saw – what he felt invading his own chest and smothering him from the inside out – into something it wasn't. He turned it into less, changed it into them slipping away into the darkness for an illicit shag, for physical pleasure that stopped before it could become anything more dangerous.

Everything in Draco _screamed_ danger.

But as Potter stepped outside into the cold, Draco followed, tugged behind as though caught in his riptide and dragged under. He followed Potter onto the deck, and Potter's hand took his. He pulled Draco in close, and in the next cold, breathless moment, they were gone.


	3. And in the dark, I can hear your heartbeat

They kissed feverishly in the hallway, but when Draco tried to tug Potter into the study, Potter resisted him.

"No," he said. "Up here."

Draco was led up the stairs and down a hall. When they reached the door to Potter's bedroom, Potter turned and drew Draco into another kiss, his lips softer now as he pulled Draco inside.

Potter maneuvered them alongside the bed, his lips gasping away from Draco's to ask, "What do you want?"

Draco cast him a lazy smile. He was hard as steel inside his trousers and could feel that Potter was equally ready. "Isn't it obvious?" he asked, trying to lure Potter in for a new kiss that Potter then evaded.

"Draco," Potter asked again, "what do you want?"

Draco ran his hands up Potter's chest and then back down, trailing his stomach and turning a hand palm-up to give Potter's cock a squeeze, to which Potter gave a very satisfying sharp inhale. _Everything. All of you,_ were his only lust-drunken thoughts as he reached around and cupped Potter's arse, leaning in and kissing the side of his neck. "This," he whispered, his hands tightening, hips rocking forward to press them more tightly together. "I want _this_."

Draco felt Potter hesitate, the briefly held breath before he leaned back, a small frown dipping his brows. Then the frown was erased, and he eased back out of Draco's arms. "Take off your clothes."

Potter watched Draco the whole time, even while he too undressed at a less hurried pace. With every article of clothing discarded, Potter let his gaze rake over Draco's body in a blatantly lingering way that had Draco's skin prickling with the heat of it. When Potter finished undressing too, he drew close again, taking Draco's hand, linking their fingers, and then kissing him, pressing their bodies together.

Draco moaned as Potter's warm skin met his, and it occurred to him rather suddenly that this was the first time they'd been completely naked with one another since that time in the Ministry shower. It was odd… the intensity of the feeling and how it danced an incongruous line between completely comfortable and wildly erotic.

Before Draco was ready to part with him, Potter backed off and climbed onto the bed. He eased himself onto his stomach, lying across the middle of the bed, settling his hips with a slow side-to-side wiggle before stilling.

It struck Draco then, like a bolt to the chest, and yet even the moment after, he wasn't quite sure if what Potter wanted was what Draco thought he might want.

_What do you want?_

"Are you coming?" Potter murmured over his shoulder.

Draco realised he'd been holding his breath and let it out. He crawled onto the bed, experimentally sliding a hand up the back of one of Potter's legs.

"Mm…" Potter groaned softly at the touch.

Draco let himself continue up, stroking over one of Potter's arsecheeks, up his back, over his shoulder, and then down again. Potter turned his face down into the bedding with another low sound of pleasure.

Settling a knee on either side of Potter's thighs, Draco cupped his arse with both hands now and gave a slow, hard squeeze — and Potter sighed. Draco massaged his arse, enthralled with the feeling of simultaneous softness and strength. Potter flexed, rubbing his cock against the bed, and Draco moaned, watching it, feeling all that resting power at his fingertips.

He let himself lean down and lick a cautious path just above the crevice between Potter's buttocks to his lower back. Potter stretched out his arms and curled his fingers over the side of the bed. Licking a fraction lower had him whining into the bedsheets and inching his thighs open.

"Fuck," Draco breathed. And then he resituated between Potter's thighs, opened his arsecheeks with his thumbs, and lapped a slow and deliberate path from the base of Potter's balls, over his entrance, and up his cleft.

Potter made a glorious whining noise, hands tightening. 

So Draco did it again. He did it again and again and again, until Potter opened his legs still further, at which point Draco zeroed in on his clenched arsehole and began rimming him in earnest.

"Oh God," Potter groaned, panting.

Draco huffed an awed breath against him and licked hard enough that once Potter finally relaxed a few moments later, his tongue pushed just a tiny way inside.

" _Fuck_." 

Draco lapped at his hole. He kissed and he licked and he moaned at how good it felt, how warm and soft Potter was here, how he fell apart, little by little, for Draco's mouth on him, Draco's tongue pressing inside him. And Potter tasted… warm. He tasted like warmth itself.

Draco's eyes fluttered closed, and he ate Potter's arse with a luxuriant groan, hands rubbing rhythmically at the lax muscles of his buttocks. He heard Potter Summon his wand and then use it to open his bedside table drawer. In the next moment, a phial of oil landed next to his hip.

Draco lifted his mouth. It felt swollen, his lips tingling slightly. He was surprised at how his voice didn't shake when he asked, "Would you like a finger, Harry?"

Potter's fists clenched around the edge of the mattress again, and he nodded.

Draco unstoppered the phial and dripped some pre-warmed oil down the cleft of Potter's arse. He coated a finger and then eased it between Potter's cheeks. He took a moment to stroke over Potter's entrance and thrilled at how Potter bucked back into his touch. Then he laid his other hand on Potter's arsecheek to hold him still, exerted a little pressure, and slowly sank his slick finger inside.

Potter made a deliciously animalistic sound that got muffled into the bedding. His hands gripped so hard he pulled the sheets loose.

Draco eased back and then pushed inside again. He added more oil, and then did it again. A third thrust into Potter's arse and Potter canted back, meeting him on a soft groan.

"Good?" Draco asked.

Potter nodded. "Yeah."

And so Draco did it quicker, working up a friction. Potter began rolling his hips back, arching a little on his downward stroke, his hands smoothing up to the edge of the bed and back down compulsively.

His arse was warm, nearly hot, and he gripped Draco's finger hard at first. Draco watched, mesmerised, as his finger disappeared up Potter's arse over and over again. He'd nearly forgotten about his own cock, but as he loosened Potter up, it became a bit of a nuisance, throbbing insistently in the crevice of his hip.

When he added a second finger and worked it in, Potter tensed up once more. Draco withdrew to just the tips of his fingers and impulsively leaned down, pressing his lips to Potter's back, low and close to his arse. He heard Potter sigh and felt the muscles against his lips relax, his fingers sliding in a little more.

"That's it, Harry," he whispered when he went all the way in again. Draco pulled back and pushed inside, and then did it again. Potter groaned into the bed and all Draco could think was…

_Amazing._

_Amazing._

_You're so bloody amazing._

"Hold on," Potter said, wrenching him out of his reverie. Draco's fingers stilled. "I need…" Potter said, and at his pause, Draco extracted his fingers. Potter lifted his head and said to him, "Lie down."

Draco swallowed, unsure. "On my…?"

Potter slowly rose up. "On your back."

Draco did as requested and watched Potter pick up the phial of oil from the bed again… watched as he came to straddle Draco's hips, his strong thighs so tense, and all Draco wanted to do was run his hands up them and feel the muscles jump.

Well all right, that wasn't _all_ he wanted to do. As Potter unstoppered the oil, his heated glance met Draco's. A small, wicked smile lifted the corner of Potter's lips. Then he tipped the phial and poured the remainder of the oil over Draco's ready cock. 

Draco shuddered at the sensation of it, the magical warmth dripping down the shaft. And then there was Potter's hand, stroking down his length, squeezing just right, his thumb working under the crown and then drifting over the slit before his hand descended again.

"Fuck, Potter," Draco sighed, too late realising he'd gone back to the name he couldn't seem to shake.

But this time, Potter didn't shutter some part of himself away at the change. He smiled, leaning forward over Draco and stroking his cock expertly. He kissed Draco's lips, tongue soft and seductive in his mouth. "You like that, Malfoy?" he murmured, his voice warm with affection, with familiarity. Draco had never heard him say his name, _that_ name, quite like that.

Draco nodded, groaning then when Potter pumped his cock a little harder.

Potter kissed him again, deeper, and Draco felt him moving his knees on either side of his hips and lining himself up. Draco broke free to look down and stare at the way Potter's thick cock swayed with his movements, how hard and deep pink it was, how Potter's stomach tensed as he readied himself. Then the head of Draco's cock was there, and Potter was soft and slick, and then as he bore down a little, Merlin, it was so, so tight.

Draco groaned as he slid inside, as Potter slowly worked him in, taking a little more with every careful thrust down of his hips. Draco grabbed his thighs, lifting his head to watch before letting it drop back into the pillow with a breathed, "Fuuuck."

"Good?" Potter asked.

"Are you joking?"

At that, Potter smiled, and he sat all the way down, taking Draco's cock inside himself and gently rocking on his lap. He seemed content to keep Draco buried there, hot and squeezed tight, barely moving. He leaned forward, angled his head, and pressed their lips together.

The kiss was tender, not rushed, not deep even, and for those moments, Draco realised he was acutely aware of the places they were connected. He throbbed inside Potter, his hands sliding up and grasping his hips — and Potter just rocked against him, moaning a little as they kissed before lifting his lips and whispering, "You feel so good, Draco."

Their lips hovered close, and then Draco lifted his head enough to slip his tongue into Potter's mouth even as he pulsed his hips up slightly. When Potter groaned into his mouth, Draco's entire body sang.

And then Potter began the lift and fall, the quickening roll of his hips that had Draco's bollocks tightening too soon. When Draco met him, thrusting up, Potter let out a lusty groan. "Yeah, like that."

They met one another -- their bodies, their skin, the sounds they each made, hot gazes dropping away only when it became too much… and then unable not to meet again. Draco's cock pushed into Potter's arse, and Potter began rocking down harder. He wrapped his hand around his cock and began stroking it quickly, eyes falling shut.

He was beautiful like that, getting off with Draco's cock fucking in and out of him. 

Merlin, he was beautiful always.

It hit Draco suddenly, his balls drawing up, the sharp ache of it catching his breath, and then his prick was emptying in the hot squeeze of Potter's arse and his hands were gripping Potter's thighs hard as he moaned. 

Potter opened his eyes and looked down on him, hand blurring on his own cock, and then he too was coming, warm shiny ropes of it striking Draco's stomach.

"Fuck, Harry…" Draco breathed, his cock twitching and spilling its last inside of him.

Potter held his breath, a beatific smile gracing his face for but a moment before he exhaled a sound of deep pleasure, hand descending from his cock to cup his balls in a gesture probably learned young while wanking… something comforting and self-protective. It felt to Draco like he was observing something he shouldn't. Or that he should. Something either stolen or given, he couldn't be sure. 

Then Potter braced on either side of him and leaned down, kissing Draco deep this time. Draco felt himself beginning to soften and some part of him, unwilling to let it go, took hold. He grabbed onto Potter's body and summoned the force to flip them, rolling on top and licking his tongue into Potter's mouth as his cock slid free and he settled between Potter's thighs.

Potter broke away with a deep, warm chuckle. "Merlin, you're making a mess of me with my own come."

Draco ran a hand through it on his stomach and smeared it down Potter's chest insolently.

"Fuck you," Potter chuckled, and Draco smiled down on him before Potter flipped them back and pinned Draco's wrists to the bed. 

They kissed again, biting and laughing at first… until it turned slow, and their laughing became soft sighs. Potter slipped his arms under Draco's body, holding him close, and Draco felt all his muscles give way to exhaustion. It was suddenly all he could do to stroke Potter's hair and hum against his lips as the immensity of the pleasure ebbed to contentment as thick and safe as the winter night. 

The kiss lingered, reluctant to end, and then Potter sighed, rolling off him and lying on his back at Draco's side. The last thing Draco felt was Potter's hand seeking his own and loosely twining their fingers. Then all fell quiet and heavy, his body a soundless, weighted thing, like snow.

~

He inhaled sharply as he came awake, blinking to bring an unfamiliar room into focus. There was light spilling from a door left ajar — the master bath. In Harry's room.

"You okay?"

Draco looked up to see Potter beside him, already sitting up in the bed, his back to the headboard. He'd donned a pair of pyjama trousers and his glasses. Instinctively Draco knew himself to still be naked beneath the covers. He rubbed his eyes, clearing his throat.

"Yeah. Yeah, what time is it?"

"Early? Late? You could cast a _Tempus_ if you really want to know."

"You don't keep a clock in here?" 

"Well, it's about nine hundred years old and stopped working probably a few decades before I was even born, so…" Potter shrugged.

"You could fix it," Draco suggested. Not that he cared. He didn't know why he was pursuing the subject actually. Truth be told, he hadn't meant to stay the night. He'd had the stupid idea that he'd have a nice post-orgasm kip and then go home to his own bed. Now here he was, naked and discussing Potter's lack of a working clock in the middle of the night.

"Did you have a bad dream?" Potter asked him softly.

"Oh, uh… I don't think so. Did you?"

Potter shook his head. "Just woke up and couldn't go back to sleep."

"How long have you been sitting there?"

Potter stared off across the room for a moment before he looked down at Draco again. "Do you have them? The dreams?"

Draco swallowed. "Oh." It felt odd, Potter being upright while Draco lay there, his hair probably mussed from both sex and sleep. But the question and the tender look on Potter's face made him feel pinned where he was, like the conversation could be a fragile thing he'd risk breaking if he moved too much. So he stayed, simply propping an arm under his head to lift himself a little while looking up at Potter's eyes, blinking behind his glasses. "Sometimes. Do you?"

Potter turned his gaze to some vague point on the other side of the room again, crossing his ankles. His hands were folded in his lap neatly. He nodded. "Yeah."

Draco watched him thinking, maybe remembering, and said nothing. The room felt bundled in cotton, like they were hidden away in a soft, quiet place. Draco remembered the blanket forts his father would chide him for building when he was supposed to be learning his maths. He'd always been alone inside them. And now here he was, with Potter.

"I've woken myself up before speaking Parseltongue. It scares the shit out of me," Potter said. "For a few seconds, it's like I don't realise it's me, and I think someone's in the room and I'm going to have to fight." He looked down at Draco. "Like I'm going to have to fight him all over again."

Draco didn't dare move. He hardly breathed. He couldn't believe Potter was telling him this. He couldn't think why or what he should say in return. He didn't feel near ready to confess his own dreams -- the ones where he really did kill Dumbledore, where Potter's hand slipped and Draco fell into the pyre, only waking when his body struck hard ground.

He didn't feel ready, even though some part of him ached to say these things aloud for once. Regardless, he was hearing them from Potter.

"I once dreamed I was her… Nagini." Potter was again staring across the room. His Adam's apple moved slowly as he swallowed, and a muscle jumped in his jaw. "I was the snake when she attacked Mr Weasley." Potter looked down at Draco then. "Did you know about that?"

He'd heard something at the time, not details, about how the Dark Lord had been able to possess Potter's mind and how Potter had seen into his. He'd been stupid enough to feel jealous, although of whom was a fair question. That had been before being told he'd have to take the Mark himself, before his deranged aunt held him there while they did it and Fenrir Greyback looked on like he might take a chunk out of Draco's jugular if he tried to back out.

That was before… every other horrible thing. Of course, horrible things had been happening to Potter long before that.

"No." Draco had to lick his lips to moisten them when he realised how dry they'd become. "I didn't."

"I don't think you and I knew a whole lot about what the other one was going through at the time." A ghost of a smile came over Potter's lips for a moment. "Although I kept trying to know what was going on with you."

"You did?"

Potter's eyes sparkled a bit, and he nodded. "I knew you were up to things, of course. But also, I think I sort of just liked the look of your name wandering around my map."

"The Marauder's Map. That's a real thing?" 

Potter smiled. "Remind me and I'll show it to you sometime." He pushed his glasses up and looked off across the room again. 

Draco lay there feeling a weird sort of excitement, something ancient, the stuff of legend, never before encountered: Potter _had_ noticed him. 

For a brief second, he was eleven years old again. And Harry Potter had noticed him.

Then Potter spoke again. "During the trials, I heard you talk about what you were made to witness… in your house."

Draco felt all his muscles go taut. So this was the reason Potter had mentioned Nagini before — so that Draco would know that he knew.

"I try not to think of it now," Draco said tightly, the unwanted memories trying to play in his mind's eye, trying to drown his new joy.

Potter nodded, slow and pensive. "Yeah, but that's when the dreams come. At least for me they do. When I've been trying not to think of it."

Draco sat up now. "I just… I don't like to think of it, Potter."

"I know. I'm not trying to make you think of it. I'm sorry."

"I hated it, you know."

"I know."

_The sound the skin made as it moved over the wood. The paralysis he'd felt and how he was afraid if he closed his eyes she might instead strike him instead of Professor Burbage. If he looked away, he might have been punished. Like the others._

"I should have done something," Draco heard himself whisper. When Potter's warm hand touched his, Draco startled. "I bloody well fainted. I don't think I mentioned that part at the trials." He shook his head. "What a bloody coward. Merlin, I should have…"

"No," Potter said. "You shouldn't have."

Draco frowned. " _You_ would have done something."

Potter shrugged. "I can't say what I would have done. I honestly can't say I wouldn't have done exactly what you did were I in the same position. It's not like you had much of a choice."

Guilt surged up Draco's throat and he looked at Potter. "But I… I _did_ things."

"I know."

"You… you know?"

"Yeah," Potter said, "I saw." It was both matter-of-fact and edged with compassion. Draco tried to will the slowing of his heart and failed utterly. "I know he made you hurt people," Potter went on. "But your Cruciatus curse is for shit, so…"

Draco could find no words in the face of knowing that Potter had seen him at his worst moment since trying to murder Dumbledore. He had a stray and insane thought that he'd wished he'd known then, at that moment, with Voldemort standing so close Draco could smell the stench of rot on him as he made his threats sound, instead, like some sort of sick encouragement… He wished he'd known Potter was, in a weird way, there with him. That Draco had had a witness to this horror he'd felt so alone inside.

"I tried to torture Bellatrix Lestrange," Potter said then, "but my Cruciatus wasn't very good either. And, you know, I chose to do that. No one was making me. She had killed one of the people I loved most in this world, and I wanted to hurt her so badly. But I couldn't. Not really. Even now, sometimes, I wish I had."

Draco felt an unaccountable frustration at this, and his hand tensed under Potter's. "But you did all sorts of good things, too."

"Your point?" Potter blinked.

"My point, Potter, is that I just stood there! I stood there while he killed Professor Burbage. I should have bloody done something!"

"Are you serious? You mean, just you? Take on Voldemort in the middle of your dining room?"

"You would have!"

"Not alone. Not like that."

Draco snatched his hand back and scooted around to face Potter in the bed. "But I wasn't alone. Professor Snape was there. My parents…"

Potter sighed with frustration. "Draco, you could have died had you tried to stop him then."

"So?"

"What do you mean, so?"

"I mean, you _did_ die, you twat," Draco insisted, voice rising.

"Well, it's not a bloody competition." Potter frowned. "Wanker."

Draco opened his mouth to argue but was suddenly struck by the truly morbid humour of it, and what came out instead was a bit of a laugh.

Something happened to Potter then too, his frown wobbling on his face. He pushed his glasses up on reflex, and he looked like he was trying to fight it, but then he sputtered into a small giggle as well. 

"Fuck you." Draco shoved him.

"Fuck you more, Malfoy." Potter shoved him back.

"Merlin, shut it. This is terrible."

"It is," Potter admitted, his eyes still gleaming even though he seemed to be doing his best to frown instead. "It's bloody awful."

Draco held his breath to keep it in, yet that only made it worse, and together they burst into the kind of laughter that was loud enough to shake the room.

"Stop it!" Draco shouted through his laughing. "It's not funny! You died in a fucking forest!" 

But that only served to make Potter laugh so hard he cried.

"You horrible, twisted person." Draco shoved hard at Potter's shoulder. Twice.

"I know! I'm sorry! Let's go back to being traumatised." He wiped his eyes.

"You're a sick man."

"I know." Potter sighed. A new, quieter round of giggles beset him, and Draco walloped him with a pillow. "I'm sorry. I'll really try to stop."

Which was probably the worst thing he could have said, because while they were able to hold their breaths of it for a moment, it only broke over them again.

"My side hurts," Draco complained when it began to subside once more. He felt a little sick from it, a bit lightheaded.

Potter took some deep breaths, rubbing his hands over his eyes beneath his glasses.

"Give me my pillow back," Draco said.

Potter hauled off and, without much force, thwumped him with it by way of returning it, and Draco took it and stuffed it behind his back once more, sighing. "Lunatic."

They were quiet for what felt like a long time. The mirth drained away, and in its place the room's silence surrounded them. In it, Draco heard the sound of Potter breathing, slow now and deep. He wanted to lay his head against Potter's chest and listen to the steady thump of his heart. It occurred to him that Potter might just let him. That he probably _would_ let him actually. It would be so lovely… just to listen to Potter's heart beating until he could fall asleep again.

"Draco," Potter said.

"Yes?"

"Are you hungry?"

"I'm bloody starving," he said, realising it was true as he spoke.

"Do you want to go down and raid the kitchen with me then?"

"Yeah, sure." Draco whisked the sheet off himself without a second thought, belatedly remembering his own nakedness. "Suppose I should throw on some pants, though."

Potter smiled at him. He looked down Draco's body and back up. "That your wand there on the nightstand?"

"Yeah. Why?"

"May I see it?"

Draco frowned suspiciously. "What do you want with my wand?"

Potter shrugged. "I like your wand."

"Do you now?"

"Please may I see it, Draco?"

Still unsure, Draco handed it over slowly. Potter _was_ being awfully polite about it after all.

Potter wrapped his fingers around it, as Draco knew he must have done countless times when it had been in his possession before. He'd still know, probably intimately, the notches in the wood, its quirks, the spells is cast easily and the ones it seemed to stubbornly resist. Although, maybe it performed them well in Potter's hand. These thoughts, which used to plague Draco, now brought a subtle wave of arousal. After all, Potter's hands knew Draco's body just as intimately now too — more so — and Merlin, how he could make Draco respond.

Potter made a swish and cast a gentle _Scourgify_ in the direction of Draco's cock.

"Fuck," Draco sighed at the sensation, familiar because it was his wand, scandalous and foreign because it was Potter's magic running through it. His dick began to get hard.

"Let's raid the kitchen in… eight minutes," Potter said, leaning in to kiss him.

When he drew back, trailing his lips across Draco's jaw and then down his neck, Draco asked, "Why in eight minutes?"

"Mm." Potter's lips lifted from where they'd descended to Draco's chest, and he smirked. "Because that's about how long I think it might take before you come in my mouth."

He slipped down the bed, his head in Draco's lap, and he wrapped his lips around Draco's cock. He worked it fully erect in his mouth, and Draco gasped, his hand sinking into Potter's hair.

And then it was probably more like five minutes.

Except who the bloody hell was counting?

~~~

Draco woke, again, in Potter's bed. This time the sun was streaming through a gap in the drapes and Potter lay fast asleep still, his arm lain over Draco's body, a dead weight. 

They hadn't had sex again, not after the kitchen raid. And they hadn't talked about anything serious anymore. They'd just… been together. They'd eaten, talking about this and that, and then Harry had yawned, and they'd come back upstairs. They'd undressed again, and for all intents and purposes, they'd been about to have another go. But then Harry had scooched up behind Draco, nestling his cock up against Draco's arse and reaching around to cup Draco's half-hard prick. They'd lasted maybe a dozen strokes, a smattering of warm kisses to the back of Draco's neck, and then Draco had made the mistake of closing his eyes, of succumbing to the warmth of the covers drawn up over his body. 

And then they'd just fallen asleep, bodies close and comfortable.

Draco took a big inhale and yawned, rubbing his eyes, and Potter grumbled a bit, sighing.

Maneuvering out from under Potter's arm, Draco threw the covers off and sat at the edge of the bed, looking for his pants. Well, his everything actually. He went around gathering clothes, strewn haphazardly from the night before, and set about getting dressed.

"Mmmhey," came Potter's sleepy voice, and Draco looked up to watch him stretching his arms above his head, one leg slipping out past the covers. 

He'd never got to see Harry like this: sleep wrecked from the night before. It was so sexy, his chest heaving with a new yawn, the hair under his arms dark and springy and… fuck, Draco could just crawl on top of him and rub one off against that warm, relaxed body before he…

Draco stopped himself mid-fantasy and pulled up his trousers. "Morning," he said with a little smile at how Potter now shoved his glasses onto his face and blinked in Draco's direction.

"You leaving?" Potter asked. "What about breakfast?"

Draco scoffed, drawing on his shirt. "Don't you feel like we just ate?" 

Potter shrugged. "Guess last night's given me an appetite." He smirked lazily, and Draco dropped his gaze, feeling himself blushing a little in response. He turned his back and sat on the edge of the bed to don his shoes.

The bed dipped as Potter moved, coming up behind Draco and leaving a warm, breathy kiss on the side of his neck. "Do you have to go?" Another kiss, closer to his earlobe. And then another at the knob his spine made at the back of his neck, Potter having pulled his jumper down enough to get at it.

Draco turned slightly to face him, the yearning to stay nearly outweighing his need to get the space he needed to think. He let himself reach up and cup Potter's now-scruffy jaw. "Yeah," he said. "I do." 

Potter sighed, and Draco leaned in and kissed him, their lips meeting soft and lingering for long moments — and then longer moments still.

"I really do need to go," Draco said against his lips eventually.

Potter fell back onto the bed with a huff. "Merlin, Draco." Then, "There's going to be a proper engagement party later, complete with numerous pints. I know they'd love it if you came."

Draco sat for a moment letting Potter's words thrum through him. "I'll try," he said, feeling his chest go tight with wanting to say more. The words and their meaning flooded him, drowned him. He felt helpless against them. He had to get out.

He stood, making his way to the bedroom door before Potter's voice stopped him again.

"Draco."

He turned to see Potter leaned up on an elbow, and it took everything Draco had not to storm over and kiss him so hard their lips bruised. "Yes?"

"I love my broom."

Salazar, could he say _that word_ any more already? Draco's throat started to close up. "Happy Christmas," he said with what felt like the last of his breath. Then he turned and strode forcefully down the hall, fleeing to Potter's Floo, his hand shaky as he thrust it in the jar for powder. 

He nearly got the address wrong even before he finally got whisked away.

~

The sounds his shoes made on the marble floor made him think of his father. He'd internalised those resonating clacks as the sound of power, of success and control. Those words had been synonymous at the time, and Draco had endeavored to make his own strides, the strike of _his_ heel, sound similar up and down the corridors of Hogwarts.

Now, as he walked through his family home, his steps were slower, softer. He controlled nothing, had power over only himself. Success was now measured differently, so differently it would have counted as failure before. He wasn't certain why he'd come, only that he'd felt he needed to… that there were some answers or direction here, despite that never having been the case before. 

Draco now moved through each empty room trying to see it as an outsider would — as the Aurors who'd come through immediately after the war had seen it: a crime scene, each heirloom a piece of evidence. He tried to see it as a Weasley would, the vast expanse of rooms, each capable of holding an entire Burrow within its walls but devoid of the kind of easy humanity that meant you could laugh as loudly as you liked.

Draco tried to remember the last time he'd laughed in this house. It would have been with his mother. It probably would have occurred out in the gardens where he would sometimes be tasked with helping her tend the flowers. When he was a young boy, she used to let him sit in her closet when she was readying herself for an evening out, and he'd hide in between the dresses and fit his hands into her heels for fun. But somewhere in there — when his cheeks were no longer baby-plump — his father had got hold of him and tried to teach him what it meant to be a pureblood man.

Draco spent the day wandering the house and then sitting out in the garden. When he got hungry, he went to the kitchens, and when the house-elves scampered about trying to make him a lunch, he helped them. He was reasonably sure several were close to having tiny little heart attacks because of this. He wasn't sure why he did it at first. But then as he peeled an orange and fetched himself something to drink, he figured it might have something to do with the fact that he'd got used to doing these things for himself now, and he found he rather liked it. The only other times he'd even been in _this_ kitchen were to shout at the elves for having made some small mistake with one of his meals. He'd not so much as touched a knife here or _Accio'd_ a kettle.

"Thanks, Waxby," Draco said, lifting his glass as he left.

"Thank _you_ , sir," the elf said, wringing his hands.

Draco took his late lunch to the terrace and ate it watching the peacocks trying to impress one another.

Once he was finished, he wandered upstairs and he found a book in one of the libraries and sat in an armchair with it, flipping pages for a while. The book smelled like his life, both familiar and distant. He set it down and perused the shelves again, letting his fingers dance over the spines of old tomes.

The sun was lowering into the tree branches when he ventured back downstairs and into the sitting area off the main dining room. He let his fingers pass over the shade of the lamp he'd nearly broken when he was seven. Pipsy had Apparated in and caught it, mid-fall, and then once his mother arrived, Draco had tried to blame it all on the elf. His standard excuse.

He lifted his eyes and swallowed, nearing the only room he'd so far avoided. 

The dining room had been completely remodelled. It was one of the first things his mother had ordered done once the Ministry had let them back into the house. Everything was different in here now, from the sheers on the windows that let in more light, to the arrangement of new furniture, bought rather than hauled out of the Malfoy vaults. This table was round, its placement in the room changed. No hint of dark magic remained. Only the memory of it.

It was sort of shocking: that the only darkness left was what he himself walked into the room with. The room was just… a room now.

Draco was turning to leave when he saw the stack of Owls and other post the elves had clearly left for his parents' return on the side table. The envelope on top caught Draco's eye, sparkling gold as it was. He walked over and held it up, frowning as the seal had already been broken. Their house-elves would never go through the post. His parents had changed after the war in incalculable ways, but an elf opening the post was still a punishable offence. Not so, a son. And so Draco pulled the invitation free and read. 

It was yet another engagement party, although not Granger's and Weasley's. Draco snorted a small laugh at the very idea they'd send out gold-leafed invites. No, this was… Astoria. She was now engaged to marry someone from the Nott family, though not Theo and no one Draco recognised. 

Draco stood staring at it for a long while, unfamiliar emotions rising within him that he felt helpless to explain. He had no interest, vested or otherwise, in Astoria bloody Greengrass. He had in fact gone to great lengths to get his parents to drop the idea of him as her suitor. Yet Draco felt suddenly closed in now, as if the lofty room weren't big enough for all that was inside him, clamouring to get out.

"Bloody…" Tears had sprung inexplicably to his eyes, blurring the fancy quill work on the page. His hands were shaking, so he set the invitation down and instead gripped the side of the table.

She'd been his last obstacle. Or at least, he'd believed her to be — this very valuable obstacle to Draco's legitimate attempts at happiness, attempts he'd not allowed himself and never intended to.

He hadn't known how much he'd still needed to maintain the idea of her out there, this person with whom he'd no doubt find himself betrothed if he didn't foster and flaunt the charade with Potter.

Now she was gone. And he had no tangible or immediate reason to keep pretending to be Potter's boyfriend. Likewise, he had no further reason to keep pretending that he was just pretending to be Potter's boyfriend either. Or rather, he still had whatever other reasons he cared to manufacture — and he had absolutely no reason at all. He never had.

Well, not no reason. He'd had, of course, one very important and immeasurable reason all this time.

Fear.

His near-paralysing fear was the only thing that had ever stood in the way, and Draco had been content to let it.

Now, all he had between himself and Potter, between reality and fantasy, was himself. That was the way it had always been. He could no longer fool himself into believing otherwise.

"Draco?"

He startled badly, not having heard her enter the room, or the house for that matter. 

"Mum, what are you…? Why aren't you in Italy?" He sniffed, trying to pull the moisture back from his eyes and suffocate the emotion where it sat. Which was rather like attempting to retract a spell once you'd already cast it.

"Oh, I came back for the necklace your father gave me for my birthday this year. I'd wanted to wear it to— Draco, what's the matter?" She walked over to him purposefully, her brow drawn down with concern, necklace dangling from her fingers.

Her nearness, the worry in her voice, all over her face, destroyed his ability to collect himself, and Draco felt real tears pushing themselves up, quavering his bottom lip horribly. 

"Mum…" 

"Draco, darling, what's wrong?' Her hands cupped his face, thumbs wiping away his tears only to make room for fresh ones to fall.

"He loves me, Mum," Draco cried then. "Harry loves me."

Her face relaxed somewhat, and a warm glimmer brightened her eyes, though he could see his own pain reflected there. "Oh my dear Draco," she said. "Of course he does. Just look at what a fine young man you've become."

At this, his defences buckled, and he sobbed. She took him into her arms, wrapping her hand around the nape of his neck as he lay his forehead down onto her shoulder. "Shh, shh, shh. My dear son. My lovely son."

Draco wept into the fine silk of her gown, all of his illusions dropping away in the face of her compassion and the earth-shattering realisation that he could have everything he wanted.

He could have _everything_ he wanted.

He had only to ask.

~

But bloody fucking hell, he had to find the tosser first!

It was full sunset once Draco Floo'd home to shower quickly and change clothes. He'd checked his appearance in his vanity mirror, and despite the look of utter terror on his face, Draco could admit he looked quite good. He was trying, after all. For the first time, he'd dressed with the specific intent to transfix and arouse Harry Potter. Okay, well it certainly wasn't the first time he'd done so, but it was the first time his intentions were so naked to his own eyes.

Weasley's estimation of him as a daft git re-arose, and he gritted his teeth against the memory, apt though it was.

"You can do this. You can do this," he whispered to his reflection, straightening his cuffs and checking his hair one last time.

He gave Joan her gift of the special owl treats he'd found while shopping, gave her head feathers a stroke, and then he'd Floo'd to Potter's.

"Harry!" he'd yelled from the study. "Harry?" down in the kitchen. "Potter!" heading up the stairs and then, down the hall and opening his bedroom door, "Harry?"

Nothing.

Draco sighed. And then he decided to go with Stupidly Desperate as a locating tactic. He screwed up his courage and Floo-called the Burrow from Potter's study. 

Molly Weasley's head appeared in the flames, and she gave a bit of a start at the person gazing back at her.

"Oh. Hello, Draco." Then her eyes went wide. "Is it Harry? Is he alright? I'll Floo through this minute! Oh, he's not in Saint Mungo's, is he? Oh Merlin."

"No," Draco said, stopping her. "No, it's not that. I'm sure he's fine. Well, relatively sure. I was actually ringing you to see if you knew where he'd gone. Where they'd gone tonight, that is," he amended.

"Oh!" She visibly sagged with relief and then turned and flapped her hand at someone in the background, presumably her husband. "Yes, he's fine." She turned back to Draco. "I believe they said something about someplace in Diagon. Or was it Knockturn actually?"

Arthur Weasley then stuck his head in the Floo next to his wife's to which she sputtered in exasperation. "It was Hogsmeade. They most certainly said Hogsmeade."

"Where in Hogsmeade, sir?"

He frowned. "Well, I… I don't rightly remember. Dear?"

Mrs Weasley budged her way back in. "No, no, no. I distinctly remember Ron mentioning the name of that restaurant they like. It's in London. Muggle London."

Draco bit the inside of his lip to keep his patience while they argued back and forth, adding about four more locations to the list as they did so.

"You know," Draco interrupted, smiling. "I think I'll just… try a couple places."

"I'm sorry, Draco," Mrs Weasley said. "My memory isn't what it used to be, I'm afraid."

"Never was," Mr Weasley muttered, and she turned and gave him a smack.

"You've been very helpful," Draco lied. "Have a good night." 

"I do hope you find them!" Mrs Weasley called before he could disconnect. "And when you do, you tell my Ron that he'll get a Howler from me the next time he goes to pick out engagement rings and doesn't tell his mother!"

"Yes, ma'am, I'll do that, goodbye." Draco ended the call before anything else barmy could be asked of him or any other faulty bits of information relayed.

He sighed. "Fucking hell." 

He tried three different places, using a combination of Floo networking and Apparition, all to no avail. He was going to stop in at Potter's once more to look for clues when he realised he'd need to go home first, since Potter's was Unplottable otherwise. 

"Merlin," he sighed in frustration before Apparating onto his own doorstep. He strode into the house and was at the Floo itself when something got his attention at the corner of his eye. It was the post that he'd forgotten to even check when he got home in the first place, all in disarray on the floor beneath the window he left open for Joan. Typically, she'd leave it on his kitchen counter, but when she was arsed with him, she tended to drop it on the floor instead. He reasoned she must not have appreciated his spending the night at Potter's without letting her know. She was a bit of a passive-aggressive bird that way.

Draco sifted through it, finding first the engagement party invitation from Astoria, which he promptly flung to the side. Adverts for Potage's Cauldron Shop, Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, specials this month at The Three Broomsticks… "Bloody hell." They all got flung aside with increased violence.

And then…

Draco's breath caught. Harry's writing. He opened the parchment and read voraciously:

_Dear Draco,_

_I forgot to tell you we'll be at the Leaky tonight after 6._

Draco stopped to bang himself on the forehead. "The _Leaky!_ " It was the one place he hadn't thought to go and probably the first he should have thought of. Thank fuck they had a year of probationary fieldwork training before they became full-fledged Aurors as he clearly had a lot of work to do in Detection. Although he'd done quite well in his classes and was always at the very top in his marks, and often people would come to him for help because he was actually rather quick about such things. He hadn't exactly gone on this search with a level head, mind, and to his credit your run-of-the-mill criminal could never put Draco out of his gourd like Harry Potter. It was a unique circumstance.

Retroactively, Draco reread the beginning and simply stopped and stared for a bit at the first word. Because bloody hell. Potter had written _Dear_ in front of his name. Had he sat there and thought about it for a while, or did it just come out of his quill like it was nothing? Did he address everyone as "dear"? It didn't necessarily mean…

"Shut _up_ , you idiot," he scolded himself, focusing back down on the rest of the letter.

_Please do come. Please? I'm saying please here, just so you know._

Draco felt himself rolling his eyes even as his chest had begun to fill with that ridiculous feeling, like he'd been Splinched but he liked it.

_Also, we'll all be wearing ours, so make sure you do as well! So long as it came in your post today. Check your post, okay? Wait, if you're reading this then you've checked your post, so never mind, but just wear it, alright? I sort of can't wait to see you in it honestly._

_But yes, The Leaky, 6 pm or thereafter. Hope to see you._

_Yours,  
Harry_

_p.s. And if you wanted to you could come back to mine after. Or I could come to yours, if that's more convenient. Whatever._

Draco stared at the bottom of the page now.

_Yours._

Added to the 'dear' at the top, they seemed to weigh more together than the sum of their parts.

_Yours._

Merlin, his heart was going like the wheels of the Hogwarts Express when it hit a straight stretch. But… 

"Wear _what?_ "

He looked at the floor where the rest of the post had deposited itself, and he had to do a doubletake. He might not have seen it right away had he not known to look. It had been miniaturised with a Shrinking charm in order to fit through small spaces easily, and the spell had not yet worn off, so the box that sat there was about the size of a Pigmy Puff —if it were the runt of the litter. 

Draco picked it up and drew his wand, casting _Engorgio_ and returning the parcel to regular size. It had the DMLE's address on it, and Draco felt excitement course through him unchecked. He ripped at the top to open it and pulled from a bed of tissue paper...

"Holy fuck."

It was his Auror uniform. It had come. It was time. They were to start field training after the break, but he hadn't thought their uniforms would arrive so soon. Thunderstruck, Draco shook it out and admired its sharp shoulders and clean, raised neckline, the numerous bronze buttons. The trousers were very smart as well and… Draco felt back inside the box and extracted a pair of shiny black boots. He smiled, turning them this way and that, before setting them aside and picking up the tunic again. Emblazoned on the chest were the words, _Trainee Malfoy_ in magical script that he knew would transform once he'd completed the program. And then someday it would read _Auror_.

Auror Malfoy.

Draco smiled so hard at it his beaming inevitably became a happy laugh.

_Wear it._

He let all his breath out and then rushed to his bedroom to change.

~

The last thing he wanted to do was just Floo in, stumbling into the pub covered in soot. Among other reasons, he wanted a moment to compose himself before he did this.

So Draco Apparated to the alley adjacent and put up a Disillusionment charm to walk the twenty feet to the door., even though most Muggle Londoners would probably not think twice about the oddly dressed weirdo walking the pavement. Still, it was good practice for fieldwork. 

When he arrived at The Leaky, though, he found himself standing with his hand on the doorknob, for a moment unable to breathe, much less enter.

He had no idea how to do this. Walk up, grab him, and kiss him? They already did that. It wouldn't exactly make the news at this point. Yet doing him up against the bar seemed like overkill. And it wasn't exactly the message he was here to convey anyway. Harry already knew Draco wanted him after all.

No, this was decidedly different.

Terrifyingly, haltingly, lean-over-and-vomit-on-his-nice-new-boots different.

Draco took a deep, cleansing breath.

"Okay. It's okay. You just tell him. That's all." He rolled his shoulders, staring down at the doorknob like it could give him some dispensation of courage. "I mean, _he_ hasn't even said it. What's that about? He's Harry Potter. Chosen One. Brave-as-fuck, bloody Gryffindor. And he hasn't even told you that he…"

Draco gulped. "Maybe a pint first," he reasoned with the doorknob. 

Yeah, okay. He could definitely do it after a pint. Or three perhaps. Certainly after three.

With that thought in his head, Draco took the Disillusionment charm off, jerked the door open, and stepped into the pub.

What he did next surprised even him.

"Harry Potter!" he seemed to have yelled.

He must have yelled it, because the entire pub went eerily and sickeningly silent, all eyes turning toward Draco standing there in the entrance in his Auror uniform like he might just perform a raid on the establishment.

He gulped again.

That's when Draco saw the collection of rusty red uniforms around a large round table off in the corner. And from that cluster of red rose one man, his hair slightly dishevelled in that way it had, his uniform sculpted to his body like an artist had chiselled him from granite. Draco willed his knees not to give out.

Harry blinked at him from across the pub, and then his gaze descended down Draco's body. There was more than appreciation there, more than lust. Draco realised what he was seeing in Harry's face was... It was pride. 

It seemed like the entire room held its breath as Harry's gaze met Draco's again and held.

Well, Draco thought. He was standing there in an Auror uniform, probably looking a bit more heroic than he felt on the inside. He might as well act the hero while everyone's eyes were on him. While Harry's eyes were on him.

Plus, he'd already yelled the first thing. It stood to reason he should simply continue. And so he did.

"I love you!" he shouted, watching the words strike Potter like the force of a well-cast spell. He seemed to waver slightly on his feet and then recover. 

It emboldened Draco. And so he yelled it again.

"Harry, I love you!"

Potter took a breath. It looked like it caught for a moment. And then he exhaled. He blinked, a little cluster of blinks. He inhaled once more, and he began to smile.

He didn't stop.

~~~

_New Year's Eve_

Draco stood in the nighttime shadows beneath the large elm outside the Manor ballroom. He bounced on the balls of his feet and blew on his hands as it was chilly even with the Warming charms he'd employed. At least it wasn't snowing.

"Late," he muttered. "Of course he is. I'm freezing my prick off and where is he? Trying to tame that hair, that's where. Plonker of the first order."

"I'm going to charm my Auror badge to say that: 'Plonker of the first order'. It's certainly better than 'Potter stinks'."

"Merlin." Draco startled. "I almost pulled my wand, Potter."

Harry smirked at him. "And we all can't have perfect hair. Some of us have to try, Draco."

Draco cast him a withering look that slipped from his face as soon as he really _saw_ Harry. If his dress robes the first time they'd been at a Ball together had been something… Well, now he was absolutely drool-inducing.

"You... look…"

"'Passable'?" Harry guessed with a twinkling smile.

Draco blushed and looked down at the ground. He'd been a right twat. 'Passable'. When even then all he'd really wanted to do was climb Harry like a tree. 

"Do I look 'Malfoyan'?" he asked in return.

Harry, hands sunk into his pockets, nudged Draco with his elbow. "Do you know what I wanted to say that night?"

Draco looked at him, suddenly breathless with wanting to know. Unless he didn't. Unless Harry had wanted to call him a stupid little ponce all decked out in his best robes. Unless Harry had thought he was—

"Beautiful. I wanted to tell you how beautiful you were."

Heat like the breath of a dragon licked up Draco's back. "Tell me now."

Harry turned to him. His hand cupped Draco's jaw, his other arm stealing around behind him and dragging Draco slowly closer. His gaze fixated on Draco's cold lips. "You are so. Fucking. Beautif--"

"Oi!" Weasley's voice boomed out over the vast lawn, and Harry grumbled beneath his breath, sagging a little.

They both turned to see Weasley darting over from the drive where other guests had gathered in order to be processed through the receiving line and into the ballroom itself.

"Hey, Ron," Harry said.

"Hey." Weasley rubbed his hands together, his breath visible, and Draco suddenly remembered that he too had been quite cold a few moments ago. "You chaps seen Hermione? She was supposed to meet me."

"Probably indoors already like a sane person," Harry answered. "You're not exactly on time."

Draco scoffed at his gall in chiding Weasley when he too was late, and Harry smirked at him, shooting him a wink and threading his fingers between Draco's.

It struck Draco as it had done a hundred times since Christmas: That it was real.

It was all real now.

It had all, always, every time, been real.

"Look," Harry continued, "apparently my boyfriend's prick is freezing off, which I'd really like to prevent, so…" He gestured toward the entrance.

Draco blushed hard, the heat pushing up into his face, while at the same time Weasley absolutely blanched — which was a bit comforting at least.

"You know," Weasley said as they made their way to the doors, "I'm responsible for this." He gestured between the two of them. "Not Hermione. _Me._ " He said this whilst jabbing himself in the chest. He seemed equal parts proud and disgusted somehow.

"Er… how exactly?" Harry asked.

"I have my ways."

Harry was the one who scoffed this time, and his hand squeezed Draco's affectionately as they walked.

"Don't make me regret it, though," Weasley grumbled. "I mean, if you start writing odes to each other's dicks I may have to resort to an Unforgivable. On myself," he added.

Harry smiled. "There will be no odes, Ron. I promise you."

"Sonnets," Draco supplied with an off-hand shrug. "Just sonnets."

Harry laughed, while Weasley groaned.

"Well, _you've_ seen it," Draco continued, triumphing when Weasley plugged his ears with his fingers and made various noises with which to drown him out.

Draco met Harry's gaze, registering the mix of humour and heat he found there, and he shifted so that his arm was through Harry's, his other hand resting on Harry's biceps, Weasley be damned. Though Draco strongly suspected it was an act and that he'd never been happier for his friend. Corroborating this theory, Weasley unplugged his ears, glancing back at them over his shoulder and not-quite-hiding a sneaky smile.

The room when they entered it practically glowed with magic, charms for warmth and light lingering in the air. String instruments formed their own quartet in one corner and played themselves while guests waltzed, mingled, laughed, and toasted the new year, which when Draco checked his watch (his Christmas gift from his parents) he saw was actually quickly approaching as it was now ten forty-five.

Weasley found Granger talking with Pansy and Blaise in a corner, and Pansy lifted her martini glass to Harry and Draco as they passed on the way to greeting Draco's parents. They'd agreed ahead of time to get this part over with early on.

"Ready?" Harry asked him quietly as they approached.

Draco's father's face seemed permanently fixed into a frown these days, and though his mother denied it had anything to do with Draco's sexual orientation and his having taken up with Harry Potter, Draco knew it probably did have at least _something_ to do with those things. While his mother had almost gratefully and certainly graciously transitioned to new, post-war ideologies, things had not been so easy for Father.

Still, the very fact of his standing there meant he was trying. Knowing this didn't melt the icy stone in Draco's gut though, and he took a deep breath as Harry's arm tightened in his own.

"Mum, Dad."

"Mr and Mrs Malfoy," Harry said warmly, shaking his father's hand and then kissing his mother's cheek.

Draco let out a small sigh of relief when his father attempted a grim smile at the exchange and didn't immediately excuse himself to get sloshed.

Harry, bless him, launched into a friendly conversation about their holiday in Italy, which Draco half-tuned out in favour of trolling the room for one of the floating beverage trays that were making the rounds.

"Ah." He released his grip on Harry's arm when one came near, taking two Firewhiskies for his father and Harry and glasses of wine for himself and his mother.

Draco had drunk his halfway down when the conversation, which had been ninety per cent owned by Harry and his mum, turned, and it was his father who now cleared his throat and made to speak.

"I, uh," he began, addressing, it appeared, Harry, though his gaze hadn't quite made it to Harry's face as yet. Draco felt his insides flash cold with something bordering on dread.

"I heard about the gift." Lucius exhaled through his flared nostrils and then began again. "The gift you bought Draco for Christmas," he said, "the quills."

"Yes," Harry said, only a slight note of unease in his voice.

"He always did love quills. Draco should have…" He cleared his throat, pausing to regroup, it appeared. "My son should have… everything he wants." He raised his gaze, met Harry's briefly, and then Draco's, giving a jerky nod and a bit of a trembling smile, after which he excused himself.

Draco stared after him, feeling rooted to the spot. His father had just, for all intents and purposes, given his blessing. His _blessing_. Draco felt the little boy inside himself, the one he'd tried so hard to muzzle and control, silently break and rejoice at the same time.

"My dear," his mother said, touching his arm. "Why don't you two go enjoy the evening with your friends now. No need to keep the older set company." Then she added, "We'll be fine. It's so lovely to see you, Mr Potter." She turned her full smile on him before she winked at Draco affectionately and wandered off to enter a circle of her own friends.

Draco turned to Harry and let all his breath out at once, a small, tremulous smile lighting on his face. He felt like gravity had just lessened slightly.

"Fuck." He laughed a little.

Harry smiled at him. "Right?"

"Well," Draco breathed, now feeling a bit dizzy with the relief. "Where to now that that's thankfully over?" He scanned the room. "Looks like Longbottom, Millicent, the Patils, and Ginny over there, and Pansy, Lovegood, Blaise, and Weasley and Granger there. Oh and apparently Finnigan, Thomas, and Chang have decided to make fools of themselves on the dancefloor. I vote for that second option then, if it's all the same to you, Potter."

"I vote you dance with me," Harry said, and when Draco turned to him, it was to see that warm, all-encompassing light emanating from him unreservedly. It was the very thing Draco knew he'd shuttered away for so long, trying not to show Draco how deeply he already loved him, thinking Draco didn't, and never would, feel the same.

Draco couldn't help but melt a little in its regard. He smiled and gave a nod. They set their empty glasses on the next tray that floated by, and then Draco let Harry pull him out into the centre of the floor. 

He stepped into Harry's arms, just like he'd done months ago in this same spot. This time, though, Draco's hand sifted up to Harry's neck without reserve, and Harry's arm tugged him close, and they gazed openly at one another as they swayed.

One song, two songs, a third found Draco pressing his cheek to Harry's and sighing with how lovely it all felt. 

Harry drew breath to speak, and his voice vibrated along Draco's body where they were pressed together.

"You know, this would make a great place for a wedding reception."

It was all Draco could do to keep swaying. His brain was firing off warning signals. Wonderful ones, but warning signals nonetheless. "Would it?" he asked, trying for off-hand.

"I think so, yeah."

At this, Draco couldn't not rear back a little and look at him. He studied Harry's relaxed expression and decided to calculatedly ask his own _Stupefy_ of a question.

"So, where do you think would make a good place for a wedding?"

Harry didn't hesitate. "The garden at the Burrow. Definitely."

Draco stared at the easy strength in his jaw, the way he already looked like he'd need a shave soon. He felt himself grow warm and giddy with the very idea of what Harry suggested. "Yes, that would be lovely," he managed.

They danced a few more beats, and then when Harry seemed content with where the conversation stood, Draco prodded him. "Potter?"

"Yes?" Harry met his gaze now, soft and unrepentantly fond.

"Are you… asking me?"

"Oh no," Harry said, dashing Draco's hopes and the mood. For a millisecond. And then, "Not yet at least. You'll know it when I ask you. I promise."

His gaze bore into Draco, the resolve intoxicating. He let Draco see, in this heady, abstract moment, all the concrete happinesses he already had planned… had already conceived and nurtured and made room for in his life.

"Well," Draco said. He gave a little nonchalant shrug but then couldn't hold the façade, meeting Harry's steady look with one of his own. "You'll know it when I say yes."

Watching that register on Harry's face was really the highlight of Draco's week. Which was saying something since his week had also contained getting buggered senseless on his kitchen countertop.

_"Ten! Nine! Eight!..."_

"Oh bloody hell, already?" Draco said, looking around at everyone else who had long since had the presence of mind to cease dancing and ready themselves for the passing of the year.

Harry's gentle fingers on his chin prying his face back around alerted Draco to what he intended to happen in the next moment.

"Oh," Draco said, as Harry leaned in slowly, the room chanting their exuberant countdown around them. "Well, yes, there is that."

And just before their lips touched, Harry smiled.

~

"You have the bag?" Millicent asked Hermione at exactly eleven past midnight.

Hermione nodded. "You have the Portkeys?"

Millicent snorted. "'Do I have the Portkeys'." 

They'd all gathered as planned beneath the elm, and Harry's arms wrapped around Draco from behind to keep them both warm.

They watched as Millicent brandished – enlarging it as she withdrew it from her pocket – a lifebuoy. Draco only barely recognised it for what it was because of Muggle Studies class and had to marvel at the fact that, of all things, _this_ is what he'd retained. 

"What the bloody fuck is that?" Blaise had clearly slept through that class.

"It's a ring buoy," Millicent said, longsufferingly, again searching her pocket.

"A what?"

"You throw it in the sea to save someone's life," Dean elaborated. "It's Muggle."

"How in hell would this save anyone?" Blaise passed the large ring over to the next person arduously.

"Okay, big as this is, we're not all going to fit around it," Padma pointed out.

"I know that," Millicent scoffed. "I'm in Transportation, for fuck's sake." She dug around in her pocket again. "Here we are." She then proceeded to pull free a two-foot-tall plastic dinosaur. It was a dull green colour and appeared to be in mid-attack.

"Yeah, that's about right." Weasley nodded.

"Millicent, where on earth…?" Granger began.

"Look, this was all very last minute, okay? I had to make do with some dodgy objects."

"That you stole from seafaring Muggle children?" Cho asked. 

"Ha bloody ha. Just for that, you have to use this last one." 

Which was when Millicent produced…

"Is that…?" Weasley began.

Harry finished his thought in a sort of bland wonderment. "A bowl of mashed potato."

"Okay. They're set to go in…" Millicent checked her watch. "Two minutes. Who's on what?"

Suddenly, the lifebuoy and dinosaur became quite popular.

"Wait!" Millicent shouted above the den. "We won't all fit on these two. There are fifteen of us. Five need to go on the bowl. Now I've already suggested Cho for speaking in a derogatory manner about the first two Portkeys. We need four more volunteers."

When no one stepped up, Granger suggested that they draw straws.

"Where are we going to get fucking straws?" Finnigan asked.

So Granger reached into her bottomless bag and in short work withdrew some. "A minute and thirty seconds. We need to hurry," she said, turning her back to bend some and make them shorter.

"This is mental!" Finnigan complained.

"You're on the bowl!" Millicent decreed.

" _Fuck._ "

The rest of them drew straws quickly, and it was determined that Blaise, Neville, and Pansy would join Cho and Seamus with the bowl of mashed potato Portkey. Draco exhaled in relief and felt Harry sag a little behind him as well.

Lovegood took Pansy's hand though, and declared softly. "I'll go in your place."

"You will?"

Lovegood shrugged. "I think it looks rather fun."

"You," Pansy said, kissing her quickly, "are brilliant. Remind me to thank you later." This she followed with a lascivious wink.

"Come on, come on," Millicent herded them. "Granger, Weasley, Patils, you're with me on the lifebuoy."

That left Draco and Harry, plus Dean, Pansy, and Ginny on the plastic dinosaur. Draco took one of its tiny arms just in time, and they were whirled up and away at a horrible pace. If he'd had any more to drink he'd likely sick up. As it stood, he tried to focus on Harry's screwed up face across from him and count the seconds until it was over.

They landed in the small side alley off Knockturn with a jolting thud which knocked Weasley to the ground. The lifebuoy group, perhaps because of the cylindrical nature of their Portkey, rolled to a skidding stop a few feet away near a dumpster.

"Where are the others?" Parvati asked, standing and dusting off her robes.

"They'll get here momentarily," Granger sighed. "Here. Everybody gets a turn at the bag. Remember it's charmed to recognise your hand, so what you get is what you get. No trading."

They gathered around and each drew a collection of clubbing clothes from the bag.

"Excellent," Pansy purred when it was her turn, withdrawing a slinky red halter dress and matching heels.

In the next moment though, there was a great whooshing sound, and the potato group arrived in the alley, all of them sporting the contents of their bowl.

"I hate every one of you," Blaise said in a demoralised voice.

Longbottom just stood there with potato dropping off him in slick blobs.

"Oh my." Granger seemed to be trying to look sympathetic and failing since she hid a quavering smile behind her hand.

"Oh for Merlin's—" Ginny huffed. "Help them!" She drew her wand and got to Scourgifying, and, chagrined to see her own girlfriend wiping potato from her eyes, Pansy joined her.

It was then Draco's turn at the bag. He reached in and felt some boots and a pair of… He frowned, pulling them free. 

"Leather trousers!" Ron bellowed.

"Sod off, Weasley, it gave you a kilt or hadn't you noticed?"

Weasley's perplexed gaze dropped to the pile of tartan in his hands as though he really had _not_ noticed and Draco felt some satisfaction at the recompense. He then stuck his hand back in the bag but felt only a magically surging empty space. 

"Granger," he said. "It didn't give me a shirt."

"No," she said, a rather Slytherinly devious smile playing at her lips. "It appears it didn't. Next!"

"But…"

"No trading. Besides, I think Harry quite likes the bag's taste."

Draco turned, and she seemed to speak the truth, as Harry looked like he was getting a second Christmas.

Draco tried to smirk confidently through what felt like a mad blush. "Very well. If Potter likes it."

"Potter likes it," Harry said.

Draco took his gear around back of one of the dumpsters to change.

"Oi! Get your own," Millicent complained, although she looked to be nearly into her bustier dress already.

Draco scuttled behind some boxes, put up Warming charms like his bollocks depended on it, and then stripped.

He came out from behind his makeshift dressing room feeling more than a little self-conscious. Strangely it wasn't his bare chest so much that made him feel naked but the way he had nothing with which to cover his Dark Mark. He found himself crossing his arms to try to hide it as he joined the others.

It did sort of take his mind off it, though, to see that the bag had spared no expense with them either. 

Lovegood twirled in an electric blue go-go dress with big purple flowers on it and shockingly white go-go boots, while Cho Chang was decked out like a pirate, complete with extravagantly-plumed white shirt and tight black trousers. Blaise's shirt was made entirely of little metal chains, and Dean Thomas was in some kind of Muggle football get-up.

And then there was Harry. His outfit was doubtless the most simple. But it also left Draco unable to tear his eyes away. Heavy black boots scuffed at the ground. His hands were sunk into the pockets of ripped black jeans that fit him perfectly and seemed so effortlessly _him_ , while on top he wore a sleeveless black t-shirt. Nothing at all special about it. It didn't even boast a design. But Draco had the distinct thought that if they'd been alone in that alley, he'd already be on his knees, ready to suck his cock.

Salazar, he'd seen the man naked! But there was something about those shoulders bared by the frayed edges of the shirt… his biceps twitching as he moved his arms to cross them.

In the next moment, he lifted his gaze and saw Draco standing there staring. And slowly his arms came uncrossed again. He pushed his glasses up his nose, his lips parting in that telling way that meant he was close to having been wandlessly stunned. His widened eyes roved over Draco's bare chest, and Draco felt his nipples go tight under his appraisal. When Harry's gaze landed on his leather-hugged crotch and seemed to get stuck there, Draco smiled and strode over to him, forcing his gaze up once he'd neared enough that Harry might risk breaking his own neck to keep ogling his trapped cock.

"Fuck, Malfoy," Harry breathed.

Draco leaned in and gave him a much-too-brief but utterly filthy kiss, all tongue and hot breath and promise. As Harry groaned into his mouth, Draco took his hand, and then he broke the kiss to the sound of Harry's tortured whine and, smirking, led his boyfriend out of the alley with all their friends in tow.

Baritone Banshee was packed on what was now the first of the year, the music blaring into the street and lights strobing over dancing, celebrating bodies. They squeezed through to the bar, and Millicent ordered a round of vodka Gillywaters on her. From the looks of it, it went a long way in making up for the mashed potato incident. 

Drinks got passed back into the group, and when everyone had one in hand, Harry called out, "Wait, I want to make a toast!"

He looked around at the group, giving each person a little smile. Then he looked at Draco as he said, "To moving on!"

"To moving on!" they all chorused, and then everyone threw back their drinks.

"I've got the next!" Weasley shouted, and Ogden's Finest was chosen by quick vote.

Draco sipped his when it came around, watching Harry lean in to hear something Neville said into his ear, after which they both laughed. Draco felt the small smile on his face and startled a little when Pansy snuck up beside him.

"You are in so much trouble," she said, shaking her head in mock dismay, her bobbed hair flirting around her cheeks.

"What are you on about, hag?"

She turned to him and surveyed him over her whiskey glass for a moment, taking a contemplative sip as though she was trying to decide if he deserved or could even handle whatever information she was metaphorically sitting on.

"Merlin, Pans, what?"

"That man is going to love you the rest of his life. I hope you know that."

Stated so bluntly, so specifically and longitudinally like that, it took Draco unawares, and he opened his mouth to find no words forming on his tongue for a moment. Heat rushed down his body. "I… How do you know that?"

She grinned at him, but there was something oddly sad in it. "He told me."

"He what?"

"That night you Floo'd in on us rat arsed on his sofa? He said as much. Said he thinks he's loved you since Hogwarts. Maybe even since the Room of Requirement, when he saved your life. He said it might have started then. Maybe even before."

_For fucking ever._

"He was pissed." But Draco knew that didn't matter. He snuck a look over at where Harry was laughing with his friends, looking weightless and happy. Draco was a part of that, and he knew it. He felt his own heart beating against his ribs ecstatically. 

"He's Harry Potter, for fuck's sake, Draco. He may not always think before he leaps. But he always knows how he feels." Pansy leaned in and gave him a kiss on his cheek. "You deserve it, you tosser." She finished her drink, Vanished the glass, and then stole Draco's, moving off into the crowd.

Draco stared after her a moment, empty-handed and adrift on his own roiling sea of jumbled thoughts. He needed the bloody lifebuoy, he thought, and then laughed.

Harry looked over, saw him smiling, and returned it easily. 

And Draco realised he wasn't afraid. He wasn't afraid of this. Maybe, in this moment, he wasn't afraid of anything. 

"Dance with me, Potter!" he shouted at Harry over the thundering music.

Harry elbowed Weasley and handed him his drink. Weasley, already in possession of a full one, passed it to Granger, who, Draco suddenly realised was decked out in pin-striped trousers and suspenders rising over her simple white button-up shirt, a fedora sitting jauntily on her head. They made a pair, her like that and Weasley in his kilt. 

And for the second time in his life, Draco caught himself smiling stupidly about bloody Weasley and Granger. Salazar, it was becoming an epidemic.

But then Harry wrapped his arm around Draco's bare waist, and together they pushed politely through the throng, coming to a space that felt like it had been left for them. Draco wrapped his arms around Harry's neck, fingers sinking into his hair, his body pressed close. There was no preamble like before, and this was no Malfoy ballroom with its respectable distances and string quartet. Harry pulled him in possessively, and they ground against each other to the thudding bass. 

Song after song they danced. There were moments when Draco got so turned on he thought he might be able to come… thought about grabbing Harry's hand and snaking it between them to grip and squeeze his cock until he climaxed under the lights, surrounded by bodies. But instead Draco just let himself buzz with the almost-ness of it, sometimes having to lay his head against Harry's shoulder and breathe it back the feeling was so powerful.

Harry's hands roamed his body, repeatedly dropping to his arse and cupping Draco through the leather. He pulled back enough to smile ruefully at Draco, shaking his head.

"You, in nothing but leather trousers. I can't decide if the universe is cruel or infinitely generous."

"Oh yeah?" Draco smiled, well aware that Harry had been half-hard against him for some time. "I was thinking we needed to even the score a bit." 

He took the hem of Harry's shirt, shimmying it up his belly. Harry dutifully lifted his arms as Draco carefully stripped it over his head to avoid knocking his glasses eskew. Draco then tucked the shirt into the back pocket of his own trousers, letting it hang there as he wrapped his arms around Harry's body again.

"So much better," Draco said, pressing against him and thrilling to the skin-on-skin contact.

"Regardless," Harry said, "those bloody trousers are fucking with my magic. It's so strong, I feel like I could hurt someone."

It was thrilling, hearing that. But Draco controlled his reaction and simply smirked. "You going to break the ceiling with me, like you did poor Ernie?"

Harry leaned in then and murmured hot into his ear. "Not the ceiling. Your bed."

Draco gasped, his body melting into Harry's with the force of his lust. "Fuck, Harry, do you maybe want to get out of here?"

Harry pulled back and stroked his thumb along Draco's jaw. He smiled that open smile that Draco so craved, that told Draco everything that was in his heart. 

"One more song," he said, prompting Draco to groan in pleasurable frustration. "One more," Harry said. "I just want one more everything with you."

He leaned in, and Draco felt his hot breath against his lips before they kissed. Harry's tongue slipped into his mouth, and Draco clung to him, groaning.

The lights flashed against Draco's closed eyes, and for a moment, he thought he might tip right over and fall to the ground. His body felt too light, too swayed by the force of gravity and three drinks. But then Harry's arms tightened around him, his hands gripping Draco's body close. 

And Draco let himself be caught.

**The End**


End file.
